THE 
LORDS  I 
OF  HIGH 
DECISION 


MEREDITH 
NICHOLSON 


THE    LORDS    OF   HIGH   DECISION 


OTHER   BOOKS  BY 
MEREDITH    NICHOLSON 

The  Main  Chance 

Zelda  Dameron 
The  House  of  a  Thousand  Candles 

Poems 
The  Port  of  Missing  Men 

Rosalind  at  Red  Gate 
The  Little  Brown  Jug  at  Kildare 

The  Hoosiers 

(Historical.     In  National   Studies   in 
American  Letters ) 


JEAN    MORLEY 


The 

Lords  of  High  Decision 

By 
MEREDITH    NICHOLSON 


Illustrated  by 
ARTHUR  I.  KELLER 


New  York 

Doubleday,  Page   &  Company 
1909 


ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED,  INCLUDING    THAT  OF  TRANSLATION 
INTO  FOREIGN  LANGUAGES,    INCLUDING   THE   SCANDINAVIAN 


COPYRIGHT,    1909,  BY  DOUBLEDAY,    PAGE   *  COMPANY 
PUBLISHED,  OCTOBER,    Igog 


TO  BOWMAN  ELDER  AND  EDWARD  ROBINETTE 

IN    REMEMBRANCE    OF   OUR    CANOE    FLIGHT   THROUGH   THE 

MAINE   WOODS,    WITH    A    BACKWARD    GLANCE 

AT    INDIAN   JOE 
WHO    FAILED    TO    FIND    THE   MOOSE 


Mackinac  Island, 

September  20,  1909. 


And  the  Fourth  Kingdom  shall  be  strong  as 
iron:  forasmuch  as  iron  breaketh  in  pieces  and 
subdueth  all  things:  and  as  iron  that  breaketh  all 
these,  shall  it  break  in  pieces  and  bruise. 

And  whereas  thou  sawest  the  feet  and  toes, 
part  of  potters'  clay,  and  part  of  iron,  the  king 
dom  shall  be  divided;  but  there  shall  be  in  it  of 
the  strength  of  the  iron,  forasmuch  as  thou  sawest 
the  iron  mixed  with  miry  clay. 

And  as  the  toes  of  the  feet  were  part  of  iron, 
and  part  of  clay,  so  the  kingdom  shall  be  partly 
strong  and  partly  broken. 

The  Book  of  Daniel. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  The  Face  in  the  Locket        ....           3 

II.  The  Lady  of  Difficult  Occasions  .         .          .         21 

III.  A  Letter,  a  Bottle  and  an  Old  Friend    .          .         28 

IV.  The  Ways  of  Wayne  Craighill       ...          42 
V.  A  Child  of  the  Iron  City        ....         59 

VI.  Before  a  Portrait  by  Sargent           ...         73 

VII.  Wayne  Counsels  his  Sister              ...         86 

VIII.  The  Coming  of  Mrs.  Craighill       .          .          .101 

IX.  "Help  Me  to  be  a  Good  Woman "         .          .       114 

X.  Mr.  Walsh  Meets  Mrs.  Craighill             .          .       126 

XI.  Paddock  Delivers  an  Invitation     .          .          .144 

XII.  The  Shadows  Against  the  Flame  .          .          .       155 

XIII.     Jean  Morley 160 

XIV.  A  Light  Supper  for  Two       .          .          .          .175 

XV.  Mrs.  Blair  is  Displeased        .          .          .          .190 

XVI.     The  Trip  to  Boston 206 

XVII.  Mrs.  Craighill  Bides  at  Home       .          .          .224 

XVIII.  The  Snow-storm  at  Rosedale          .          .          .240 

XIX.  Mr.  Wingfield  Calls  on  Mr.  Walsh         .          .       262 

XX.  Evening  at  the  Craighills'     .          .         .          .274 

XXI.  Soundings  in  Deep  Waters    ....       292 

XXII.  A  Conference  at  the  Allequippa    .          .          .       299 

XXIII.  The  End  of  a  Sleigh-ride      ....       307 


viii     THE  LORDS  OF  HIGH  DECISION 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXIV.  Jean  Answers  a  Question         .         .          .317 

XXV.  Colonel  Craighill  is  Annoyed  .          .          .       327 

XXVI.  Colonel  Craighill  Scores  a  Point       .          .       335 

XXVII.  "  I'm  Going  Back  to  Joe "                 .          .       344 

XXVIII.     Closed  Doors 355 

XXIX.  "  You  Love  Another  Man,  Jean "     .          .     '  368 

XXX.  The  House  of  Peace        .          .          .         .378 

XXXI.  Wayne  Sees  Jean  Again  .          .          .          .397 

XXXII.  An  Angry  Encounter        ....       408 

XXXIII.  The  High  Moment  of  Their  Lives    .          .       416 

XXXIV.  The  Heart  of  the  Bugle   .          .          .          .428 
XXXV.     Golden  Bridge 446 

XXXVI.  Two  Old  Friends  Seek  Wayne           .          .       460 

XXXVII.  Wayne  Visits  His  Father's  House      .          .       467 

XXXVIII.  "  They're  Callin'  Strikes  on  Me  "     .          .       475 

XXXIX.  We  See  Walsh  Again        ....       487 

XL.  The  Belated  Appearance  of  John  McCan- 

dless  Blair 493 

XLI.  "My  City— Our  City"            .         .         .498 


ILLUSTRATIONS 
Jean  Morley        ......         Frontispiece 


FACING  PAGE 


"Men  who  work  with  their  hands  —  these  things !"  .  322 
"  There  was  a  dull  sound  as  of  a  blow  struck  "  .  .  422 
"Ghosts,  the  ghosts  of  dead  soldiers"  ....  442 


THE    LORDS    OF   HIGH   DECISION 


The  Lords  of  High  Decision 

CHAPTER  I 

THE    FACE    IN    THE    LOCKET 

AS  Mrs.  John  McCandless  Blair  entered  the 
jLjL  house  her  brother,  Wayne  Craighill,  met 
her  in  the  hall.  The  clock  on  the  stair  landing 
was  striking  seven. 

**  On  time,  Fanny  ?  How  did  it  ever  happen  ?  "  he 
demanded  as  she  caught  his  hands  and  peered  into 
his  face.  He  blinked  under  her  scrutiny;  she  always 
gave  him  this  sharp  glance  when  they  met,  —  and  its 
significance  was  not  wasted  on  him ;  but  she  was  sat 
isfied  and  kissed  him,  and  then,  as  he  took  her  wrap: 

"For  heaven's  sake  what's  up,  Wayne?  Father 
was  ominously  solemn  in  telephoning  me  to  come 
over.  John's  dining  at  the  Club  —  I  think  father 
wants  to  see  us  alone.'* 

"It  rather  looks  that  way,  Fanny,"  replied  Wayne, 
laughing  at  his  sister's  earnestness. 

"Well,  is  he  going  to  do  it  at  last?" 

"There's  no  use  kicking  if  he  is,  so  be  prepared 
for  the  worst." 

"Well,  if  it's  that  Baltimore  woman - 

"Or  that  Philadelphia  woman,  or  the  person 
he  met  in  Berlin  —  the  one  from  nowhere " 


4  THE  LORDS  OF 

Their  voices  had  reached  Colonel  Craighill  and 
he  came  into  the  hall  and  greeted  his  daughter 
affectionately. 

"Give  me  credit,  papa!    I  was  on  time  to-night!" 
"  We  will  give  John  credit  for  sending  you.     How's 
the  new  car  working  ?  " 

"Oh,  more  or  less  the  usual  way!" 
Dinner   was   announced    and   they   went    out    at 
once,  Mrs.  Blair  taking  a  place  opposite  her  father 
at  the  round  table,  with  Wayne  between  them. 

Roger  Craighill  was  an  old  citizen;  it  may  be 
questioned  whether  he  was  not,  by  severe  stand 
ards,  the  first  citizen  of  Pittsburg.  There  were, 
to  be  sure,  richer  men,  but  his  identification  with 
the  soberer  past  of  the  City  of  the  Iron  Heart  — 
before  the  Greater  City  had  planted  its  guidons 
as  far  as  now  along  the  rivers  and  over  the  hills  — 
gave  indubitable  value  and  dignity  to  his  name. 
He  was  interested  in  many  philanthropies  and 
reforms,  and  he  had  just  returned  from  Washington 
where  he  had  attended  a  conference  of  the  Amer 
ican  Reform  Federation,  of  which  he  was  a  prom 
inent  and  influential  member.  Colonel  Craighill, 
like  his  son,  dressed  with  care  and  followed  the 
fashion,  and  to-night  in  his  evening  clothes  his 
daughter  thought  him  unusually  handsome  and 
distinguished.  He  had  kept  his  figure,  and  his  fine 
colouring  had  prompted  Mr.  Richard  Wingfield,  the 
cynic  of  the  Allequippa  Club,  to  bestow  upon 
him  the  soubriquet  of  Rosy  Roger,  a  pleasantry 
for  which  Wingfield  had  been  censured  by  the 


HIGH  DECISION  5 

governors.  But  Colonel  Craighill's  fine  height  and 
his  noble  head  with  its  crown  of  white  hair,  set 
him  apart  for  admiration  in  any  gathering.  He 
walked  a  mile  a  day  and  otherwise  safeguarded 
his  health,  which  an  eminent  New  York  physician 
assured  him  once  a  year  was  perfect. 

Roger  Craighill  was  by  all  tests  the  most  eligible 
widower  in  western  Pennsylvania,  and  gossip  had 
striven  for  years  to  marry  him  to  any  one  of  a  dozen 
women  imaginably  his  equals.  When  the  local  pos 
sibilities  were  exhausted  attention  shifted  to  women 
of  becoming  age  and  social  standing  in  other  cities 
—  New  York,  Philadelphia,  Baltimore  —  Colonel 
Craighill's  frequent  absences  from  home  lending 
faint  colour  of  truth  to  these  speculations.  His 
daughter,  Mrs.  John  McCandless  Blair,  had  often 
discussed  the  matter  with  her  brother,  but  with 
out  resentment,  save  occasionally  when  some  woman 
known  to  them  and  distasteful  or  particularly  unsuit 
able  from  their  standpoint  was  suggested.  It  was 
indicative  of  the  difference  in  character  and  tem 
perament  between  brother  and  sister  that  Wayne 
was  more  captious  in  his  criticisms  of  the  presump 
tive  candidates  for  their  mother's  place  in  the  old 
home  than  his  sister.  When,  shortly  after  Mrs. 
Craighill's  death,  Wayne's  dissolute  habits  became 
a  town  scandal  there  were  many  who  said  that 
things  would  have  gone  differently  if  his  mother 
had  lived;  that  Mrs.  Craighili  had  understood 
Wayne,  but  that  his  father  was  wholly  out  of  sym 
pathy  with  him. 


6  THE   LORDS   OF 

Mrs.  John  McCandless  Blair  was  immensely 
aroused  now  by  the  suspicion  that  her  father 
was  about  to  bring  home  a  second  wife,  and 
she  steeled  her  heart  against  the  unknown 
woman.  She  was  not  in  the  least  abashed  by  her 
father,  who  never  took  her  seriously.  He  began 
describing  his  visit  to  Washington,  to  cover  the  four 
courses  of  the  family  dinner  that  must  be  eaten 
before  —  with  proper  deliberation  and  the  room 
freed  of  the  waitress  —  he  apprised  his  children  of 
the  particular  purpose  of  this  family  gathering. 

Colonel  Craighill  was  a  capital  talker  and  he 
gave  an  intimate  turn  to  his  account  of  the  Washing 
ton  meeting,  uttering  the  names  of  his  distinguished 
associates  in  the  Federation  with  frank  pride  in 
their  acquaintance.  A  Southern  bishop,  far-famed 
as  a  story-teller,  was  a  member  and  Colonel  Craig- 
hill  repeated  several  anecdotes  with  which  the 
clergyman  had  enlivened  the  conferences.  He 
quoted  one  or  two  periods  from  his  own  speech 
at  the  dinner,  and  paused  for  Mrs.  Blair  and  Wayne 
to  admire  their  aptness.  With  a  nice  sense  of 
climax  he  mentioned  last  his  invitation  to  luncheon 
at  the  White  House,  where  there  was  only  one 
other  guest  —  a  famous  English  statesman  and  man 
of  letters. 

"It  was  really  quite  en  famille.  My  impression 
of  the  President  was  delightful;  I  confess  that  I 
had  wholly  misjudged  him.  He  addressed  many 
questions  to  me  directly  —  asking  about  political 
conditions  here  at  home  in  such  a  way  that  I  had 


HIGH   DECISION  7 

to  do  a  good  deal  of  talking.  As  I  was  leaving 
he  detained  me  a  moment  and  asked  my  opinion 
of  the  business  outlook.  I  was  amazed  to  see  how 
familiar  he  appeared  to  be  with  the  range  of  my 
own  interests.  He  told  me  that  if  I  had  suggestions 
at  any  time  as  to  financial  policies  he  wished  I  would 
come  down  and  talk  to  him  personally.  But  the 
published  reports  of  my  visit  to  the  White  House 
annoyed  me  greatly.  I  thought  it  only  just  to 
myself  to  write  him  a  line  to  repudiate  the  inter 
view  attributed  to  me.  There  have,  of  course,  been 
rumours  of  cabinet  changes,  but  I  don't  want  office  — 
all  I  ask  is  to  be  of  some  service  to  mv  fellow-men 

v 

in  the  role  of  a  private  citizen." 

Mrs.  Blair  murmured  sympathetic  responses 
through  this  recital.  Wayne  ate  his  salad  in  silence. 
He  knew  that  his  father  enjoyed  nothing  so  much 
as  these  conferences  in  behalf  of  good  causes;  they 
required  a  great  deal  of  time,  but  Colonel  Craighill 
had  reached  an  age  at  which  he  could  afford  to 
indulge  himself.  If  he  enjoyed  delivering  addresses 
and  making  after-dinner  speeches  it  was  none  of 
Wayne's  affair.  Their  natures  were  antipodal. 
Wayne  cared  little  what  his  father  did,  one  way  or 
another. 

Mrs.  Blair  fell  to  chaffing  her  father  about  the 
work  of  the  Federation.  Her  curiosity  as  to  the 
nature  of  the  announcement  he  had  said  he  wished 
to  make  grew  more  acute  as  the  minutes  passed, 
and  she  talked  with  rather  more  than  her  usual 
nervous  volubility. 


8  THE   LORDS   OF 

"Just  think,"  she  exclaimed,  "of  drinking  cham 
pagne  over  the  building  of  schools  for  poor  negroes! 
If  you  would  send  them  the  champagne  how  much 
more  sensible  it  would  be!  There's  a  beautiful  idea 
Why  not  found  a  society  for  providing  free  cham 
pagne  for  the  poor  and  needy!" 

"It's  not  for  you  to  deride,  Fanny.  Only  a  little 
while  ago  you  were  raising  a  fund  for  the  restoration 
of  a  Buddhist  temple  somewhere  in  darkest  Japan 
—  the  merest  fad.  I  remember  that  Doctor  Mc 
Allister  wrote  me  a  letter  expressing  surprise  that 
a  daughter  of  mine  should  be  aiding  a  heathen 
enterprise." 

"It  was  too  bad,  papa!  But  the  temple  is  all 
restored  now,  and  we  had  a  little  fund  left  over  after 
the  work  was  done  —  I  was  treasurer  and  didn't 
know  what  else  to  do  with  it  —  so  I  gave  it  to  help 
build  an  Episcopal  parish  house  at  Ironstead.  And 
to-day  I  was  out  there  in  the  machine  and  behold! 
Jimmy  Paddock  is  running  that  parish  house  and  a 
mission  and  is  no  end  of  a  power  in  the  place." 

"Paddock?    What  Paddock?"  asked  Wayne. 

"Why,  Jimmy  Paddock.  Don't  you  remember 
him  ?  You  knew  him  in  your  prep,  school,  and  he 
was  on  the  eleven  at  Harvard  while  you  were  at 
the*  Tech.'" 

"Not  the  same  man,"  declared  Wayne.  "I  knew 
my  Jimmy  like  a  top;  he  was  no  monk  —  not  by 
a  long  shot.  Besides,  his  family  had  money  to  burn. 
No  parish  *house  larks  for  Jim.  He  knew  how  to 
order  a  dinner!" 


HIGH  DECISION  9 

"It  just  happens,"  replied  Mrs.  Blair,  "that  I 
knew  Jimmy,  too,  back  in  your  college  days  .and 
I  declare  that  I  saw  him  this  afternoon  at  Iron- 
stead.  I  was  out  there  looking  for  a  maid  who 
used  to  work  for  us  and  I  met  Jimmy  Paddock  in 
the  street  —  a  very  disagreeable  street  it  was,  too. 
You  know  he  was  always  shy  and  he  seemed  terribly 
embarrassed.  It  was  hard  work  getting  anything 
out  of  him;  but  he's  our  old  Jimmy  and  he's  a 
regular  minister  —  went  off  and  did  it  all  by  him 
self  and  has  been  out  there  at  Ironstead  for  six 
months  —  all  through  the  hot  weather." 

"Does  he  wear  a  becoming  habit  and  hold  quiet 
days  for  women?"  asked  Wayne.  "I  remember 
that  you  affected  the  Episcopalians  for  a  while  - 
for  about  half  of  one  Lent!  That  was  just  before 
those  table-tippers  buncoed  you  into  introducing 
them  to  our  first  families." 

"That  is  unworthy  of  you,  Wayne!"  and 
Mrs.  Blair  frowned  at  her  brother  with  mock  indig 
nation.  "Nobody  ever  really  explained  some  of  the 
things  those  mediums  did.  They  certainly  told  me 
things-  -  !" 

"I'll  wager  they  did,"  laughed  Wayne.  "But  go 
on  about  Jimmy." 

"He's  just  a  plain  little  minister  —  no  habit  or 
anything  like  that.  He's  wonderful  with  men  and 
boys.  He  thanked  me  for  helping  with  the  parish 
house,  and  when  candour  compelled  me  to  tell  him 
that  I  didn't  know  it  was  his  enterprise  and  that 
he  had  got  what  was  left  after  restoring  a  Buddhist 


10  THE   LORDS  OF 

temple,  he  smiled  in  just  his  old  boyish  way,  and  I 
made  him  get  in  the  machine  and  take  me  to  see  the 
place,  which  is  the  simplest.  There  was  a  sign  on 
the  door  of  the  parish  house  that  said,  'Boxing 
Lessons  Tuesday  Night,  by  a  Competent  Instructor. 
All  Welcome.'  And  it  was  signed  'J.  Paddock, 
Rector.' " 

"If  this  minister  is  the  boy  we  knew  when  Wayne 
was  at  St.  John's  I  should  think  he  would  have 
come  to  see  us,"  remarked  Colonel  Craighill.  '  We 
used  to  meet  his  family  now  and  then." 

"I  scolded  him  for  not  telling  us  he's  here;  and 
he  said  he  had  been  too  busy.  He  asked  all  about 
you,  Wayne  —  said  he  was  going  to  look  you  up; 
but  when  I  asked  him  to  come  and  dine  with  us  he 
was  so  unhappy  in  trying  to  get  out  of  it  that  I 
told  him  not  to  bother.  He's  perfectly  devoted  to 
his  work,  and  they  say  the  people  out  there  are  crazy 
about  him." 

"Dear  old  Jimmy!"  mused  Wayne.  "I  wonder 
how  he's  kept  it  so  dark.  You  never  can  tell !  Jimmy 
used  to  exhaust  his  chapel  cuts  the  first  week  every 
term.  If  he's  taken  to  saving  souls,  though,  he'll 
do  it;  he  hangs  on  like  a  bull  pup.  I  can  see  him 
now  at  that  last  Thanksgiving  game  going  down 
the  field  with  the  ball  under  his  arm  —  he  was  as 
fast  as  lightning.  I'd  like  to  take  a  few  boxing 
lessons  from  Jimmy  myself,  if  he's  in  the  business." 

Coffee  was  served;  Mrs.  Blair  dropped  the  Rev 
erend  James  Paddock  and  watched  her  father  choose 
his  single  lump  of  sugar.  He  refused  a  cigar  but 


HIGH  DECISION  11 

waited  until  Wayne  had  lighted  a  cigarette  before 
he  dismissed  the  waitress  and  began. 

"It  must  have  occurred  to  you  both  that  I  might 
at  some  time  marry  again." 

;'Yes,  father;  I  suppose  that  possibility  has 
occurred  to  many  people,"  replied  his  daughter,  feel 
ing  that  something  was  required  at  once.  Wayne  said 
nothing,  but  drew  his  chair  back  from  the  table 
and  crossed  his  legs. 

"  I  want  you  to  understand  that  your  dead  mother's 
life  is  a  precious  —  a  very  precious  memory.  My 
determination  to  marry  means  no  disloyalty  to 
her." 

He  bowed  his  head  and  drew  one  hand  lightly 
across  the  table. 

"I  have  been  lonely  at  times;  the  management 
of  the  house  in  itself  has  been  a  burden,  but  I  have 
not  liked  to  give  it  up.  I  might  have  gone  to  live 
with  you,  Fanny,  —  you  and  John  have  been  kind 
in  urging  me  --  but  you  have  your  own  family;  and 
as  long  as  Wayne  is  unmarried  the  old  place  must 
be  his  home.  The  change  I  propose  making  will 
have  no  effect  on  your  status  in  my  house,  Wayne  — 
none  whatever!" 

"Thank  you;    I  appreciate  that,  sir." 

"In  fact,"  continued  Colonel  Craighill,  address 
ing  his  son,  "you  both  understand  that  the  house 
is  really  yours  —  I  have  only  a  life  tenancy  here  — 
that  was  your  mother's  wish  and  she  so  made  her 
will.  Maybe  you  don't  remember  that  this  property 
was  never  mine.  Your  mother  inherited  a  large 


12  THE   LORDS   OF 

tract  of  land  up  here  from  her  father,  and  after  I 
built  the  house  the  title  remained  in  her  name  — 
the  homestead  will  be  yours,  Wayne;  your  mother 
made  it  up  to  Fanny  in  other  ways." 

"I  understand -- but  wouldn't  it  be  better  for 
me  to  leave  —  for  a  time  at  least  —  after  your 
marriage  ?" 

"No;  I  couldn't  think  of  that,  and  I'm  sure 
Adelaide  would  be  very  uncomfortable  if  she  felt 
you  were  being  driven  from  home.  And,  moreover, 
you  know  how  prone  people  are  to  gossip.  It  must 
not  be  said  that  my  son  left  his  father's  house  through 
any  act  of  mine." 

"The  old  story  of  the  cruel  stepmother!"  smiled 
Wayne;  but  his  father  went  on  gravely,  as  though 
to  rebuke  this  levity. 

;' There  are  ways  in  which  you  have  been  a  great 

grief  to  me;   I  had  not  meant  to  speak  of  that,  but 

Fanny  has  been  a  good  sister  to  you  and  she  knows 

the  whole  story.     I  should   like  you  to  remember 

-to  remember  that  you  are  my  son!" 

Wayne  nodded,  but  did  not  speak.  After  a 
moment  his  father  resumed,  addressing  them  both. 

"I  have  known  the  lady  I  am  to  marry  a  compara 
tively  short  time,  but  I  have  become  deeply  attached 
to  her.  She  is  young,  but  that  is  not  her  fault" 
and  Colonel  Craighill  smiled-  "or  mine!  Her 
father  died  when  she  was  still  a  child,  and  she  has 
lived  abroad  with  her  mother  much  of  the  time. 
She  is  of  an  old  Vermont  family.  The  marriage 
is  to  take  place  in  a  fortnight  and  by  our  own  wish 


HIGH   DECISION  13 

will  be  altogether  simple  and  quiet.  Please  do  not 
mention  this;  I  have  to  go  to  Cleveland  to-morrow 
for  a  day  or  two  and  I  shall  make  the  announce 
ment  when  I  return.  I  have  thought  to  save  your 
feelings  and  to  prevent  embarrassment  all  round  by 
not  asking  either  of  you  to  the  ceremony.  We 
shall  meet  in  New  York  and  go  quietly  to  Doctor 
McAllister's  residence  —  he  is  an  old  friend  whom 
I  have  kno\vn  long  in  church  affairs  —  and  we  shall 
come  home  immediately.  The  name  of  the  lady 
is  Allen --Miss  Adelaide  Allen.  I  am  sure  you 
will  learn  to  like  her  —  that  you  and  Fanny  will 
see  and  appreciate  the  fine  qualities  in  Miss  Allen 
that  have  won  my  admiration  and  affection." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  when  he  concluded. 
The  candle  nearest  him  sputtered  and  he  adjusted 
it  carefully.  Then  Mrs.  Blair  rose  and  kissed  him. 

"You  sly  old  daddy!"  she  broke  out;  "and  you 
never  told  a  soul!  Well"  —  and  she  seated  herself 
again  at  the  table  and  nibbled  a  bonbon-  "tell 
us  what  she's  like,  and  her  ways  and  her  manners. 
I  suppose,  of  course,  she's  a  teacher  in  one  of  your 
negro  schools,  or  a  foreign  missionary  or  some 
thing  noble  like  that !  Tell  us  everything  —  every 
thing  —  "  and  Mrs.  Blair,  elbows  on  table,  denoted 
the  breadth  of  her  demand  by  an  out\vard  sweep 
of  her  hands  from  the  wrists. 

Colonel  Craighill  smiled  indulgently  in  the  enjoy 
ment  of  his  daughter's  eagerness. 

"Tell  us  everything  —  her  just  being  from  Ver 
mont  doesn't  mean  much.  Is  she  a  blonde?" 


14  THE   LORDS   OF 

"Well,"  replied  Colonel  Craighill,  colouring 
slightly,  "Now  that  I  think  of  it,  I  believe  she  is!" 

"I  knew  it!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Blair;  "they're 
always  blondes!  What  are  her  eyes?" 

"Blue." 

"Stout  or  thin?" 

"I  think  her  proportions  are  about  right  for 
her  age." 

"Which  is-      -  ?" 

"Twenty-nine." 

"Are  you  sure  about  that,  papa?  You  know 
they  sometimes  forget  to  count  their  birthdays." 

;'Whom  do  you  mean  by  they?"  asked  Colonel 
Craighill  guardedly. 

"I  mean  the  members  of  my  delightful  sex.  Let 
me  see,  you  are  sixty-five,  if  I  remember  right. 
Twice  twenty-nine  is"  —  she  made  the  computation 
on  her  slim,  supple  fingers—  "fifty-eight:  you're 
rather  more  than  twice  her  age." 

"It  would  be  more  polite,  to  say  that  she's 
rather  less  than  half  mine." 

"Oh,  it  all  gets  to  the  same  place!  It  will  have 
the  advantage  of  making  me  appear  young  to  have 
a  stepmother  a  few  years  my  junior.  But  what  a 
blow  to  these  old  dowagers  who  have  been  suspected 
of  having  designs  on  you!  They  little  knew  that 
all  the  time  they  were  pursuing  you  to  consult  about 
their  investments  or  church  or  charity  schemes, 
you  were  casting  about  for  some  lovely  young  thing 
still  in  the  lawful  possession  of  her  own  hair  and 
teeth.  Why,  if  I'd  known  that  was  your  idea  there 


HIGH  DECISION  15 

are  lots  of  nice  girls  here  in  town  that  I  should  love 
to  have  in  the  family.  Wayne,  you  will  be  careful 
not  to  flirt  with  her!" 

"Fanny!" 

Colonel  Craighill  struck  the  table  so  sharply  that 
the  candlesticks  jumped.  He  was  angry,  and  the 
colour  deepened  in  his  face. 

"Please,  papa,  —  I  didn't  mean  to  be  rude!" 

Mrs.  Blair  touched  her  father's  coat-sleeve  lightly 
with  her  hand.  She  loved  her  brother  very  dearly,  and 
the  effect  upon  him  of  this  marriage  was  already,  in 
her  vivid  imagination,  the  chief  thing  in  it.  She  had 
long  felt  that  her  father  had  given  Wayne  up; 
that  he  believed  the  passion  for  drink  that  took 
hold  of  his  son  at  times  was  in  the  nature  of  a  disease, 
to  be  suffered  patiently  and  borne  with  Chris 
tian  fortitude. 

Wayne  was  vexed  at  his  sister's  manner;  he  dis 
liked  contention  and  there  was  nothing  to  he  gained 
by  being  disagreeable  over  their  father's  marriage. 
He  left  the  room  to  find  fresh  cigarettes  and  when 
he  came  back  the  air  had  cleared.  Colonel  Craighill, 
anxious  on  his  part  to  be  conciliatory,  was  laugh 
ing  at  a  renewal  of  Fanny's  cross-questioning. 

"Where  did  Miss  Allen  attend  school?"  she 
was  asking. 

"  I  believe  she  had  private  teachers,"  replied  Colonel 
Craighill,  though  not  positively. 

"And  she  isn't  a  teacher  herself  or  a  philan 
thropist?  Has  she  money?" 

"She  and  her  mother  are,  I  believe,  in  comfortable 


16  THE   LORDS   OF 

circumstances.  I  hope  that  you  and  Wayne  will 
appreciate  the  difficulties  before  this  lady  in  becoming 
my  wife  —  that  she  is  stepping  into  a  place  where  she 
will  be  criticized  unkindly  from  the  very  fact  of  my 
position  here  and  the  disparity  in  our  years  and 
fortunes.  I  appeal  to  you,  Fanny,  as  to  one  woman 
on  behalf  of  another.  You  can  make  her  way  easy 
if  you  will." 

He  had,  with  the  best  intentions  in  the  world, 
struck  the  wrong  note.  In  so  many  words,  he  was 
asking  mercy  where  there  had  been  no  accusation. 
Mrs.  Blair  had  not  the  slightest  intention  of  com 
mitting  herself  to  any  policy  toward  her  father's 
new  wife.  So  far  as  the  public  was  concerned  she 
would  carry  off  the  situation  with  outward  accept 
ance  and  approval;  but  just  now  she  declined  to 
consider  the  question  in  the  key  her  father  had 
sounded.  To  him  she  was  a  frivolous  person  with 
unaccountably  erratic  ways,  and  with  nothing  of 
his  own  measure  or  sobriety.  She  made  no  reply 
whatever  to  his  appeal,  but  chose  another  bonbon 
and  ate  it  with  exasperating  slowness.  Wayne  saw 
-  as  her  father  did  not  —  that  she  was  angry;  but 
Mrs.  Blair  fell  back  upon  the  half-mocking  mood 
with  which  she  had  begun,  demanding: 

"Is  she  modish?  Does  she  wear  her  clothes  with 
an  air?" 

"I  hope,"  said  Colonel  Craighill,  betrayed  into 
the  least  show  of  resentment  by  her  refusal  to  meet 
his  question —  "I  hope,  Fanny,  that  she  dresses 
like  a  lady." 


HIGH   DECISION  17 

"So  do  I,  papa,  if  it  comes  to  that!  You  haven't 
told  us  yet  how  you  came  to  meet  Miss  Allen." 

"It  was  last  spring  when  I  went  to  Bermuda. 
She  and  her  mother  were  on  the  steamer.  I  saw 
a  good  deal  of  them  then;  and  I  have  since 
seen  them  in  New  York,  which  is  now  really 
their  home." 

"Have  they  ever  been  here?  —  I  have  known 
Aliens." 

"I'm  quite  sure  you  have  never  met  them,  Fanny. 
Since  Adelaide's  father  died  they  have  travelled 
much  of  the  time." 

"So  your  frequent  trips  to  New  York  haven't 
been  wholly  philanthropy  and  business!  You  speak 
her  name  as  though  you  had  got  well  used  to  it. 
It's  funny,  but  I've  never  known  Adelaides.  Have 
you  ever  known  an  Adelaide,  Wayne?" 

"A  lot  of  them;  so  have  you  if  you  will  think 
of  it,"  answered  her  brother.  He  saw  that  his  father 
was  growing  restive  and  he  knew  that  Fanny  was 
going  too  far.  There  was  a  point  at  which  she 
could  vex  those  who  loved  her  most,  but  being  wiser 
than  she  seemed  she  usually  knew  it  herself.  She 
pushed  away  the  bonbon  dish  and  slapped  her 
hands  together  lightly. 

"Wayne,"  she  cried,  "what  are  we  thinking  of? 
We  must  see  her  picture!  Now,  papa!  you  know 
you  have  it  in  your  pocket!" 

"Certainly,  we  must  see  Miss  Allen's  picture," 
echoed  Wayne,  relieved  at  his  sister's  change 
of  tone. 


18  THE   LORDS   OF 

"Later  —  later!"  but  Colonel  Craighill's  annoy 
ance  passed  and  he  smiled  again. 

"It  isn't  dignified  in  you  to  invite  teasing,  papa. 
You  know  you  have  her  photograph.  Out  with 
it,  please!" 

She  bent  toward  him  as  though  threatening  his 
pockets.  He  laughed,  but  coloured  deeply;  then 
he  drew  from  his  waistcoat  a  thin  silver  case  a 
trifle  larger  than  a  silver  dollar,  and  suffered  Fanny 
to  take  it. 

"Now,"  said  Colonel  Craighill,  settling  himself 
in  his  chair,  "you  see  I  am  not  afraid,  Fanny,  of 
even  your  severe  judgment." 

She  weighed  the  unopened  trinket  in  her  palm 
as  though  taunting  her  curiosity.  Wayne  lighted 
a  fresh  cigarette  and  turned  toward  his  sister.  He 
was  surprised  at  his  own  indifference;  but  he 
feigned  curiosity  to  please  his  father,  who  naturally 
wished  his  children  to  be  interested  and  pleased. 
Fanny  opened  the  locket  and  studied  it  carefully 
for  an  instant. 

'  *  Charming !  Perfectly  charming ! "  she  exclaimed ; 
and  then,  holding  it  close  and  turning  her  head 
and  pursing  her  lips  as  she  studied  the  face,  "but 
I  thought  you  didn't  like  such  fussy  hair  dressing 
-  you  always  told  me  so.  I  don't  like  the  ultra- 
marcelling;  but  it's  well  done  —  and  if  it's  all  hers 
and  she  can  manage  it  without  a  rat  she's  a  wonder. 
You've  always  decried  the  artificial,  but  I  see  you're 
finding  that  Nature  has  her  weak  points.  Those 
eyes  are  just  a  trifle  inscrutable,  a  little  heavy- 


HIGH  DECISION  19 

lidded  and  dreamy  —  but  we'll  have  to  see  the 
original.  Her  nose  seems  regular  enough,  and  her 
mouth  —  well,  I  wouldn't  trust  any  photograph  to 
tell  the  truth  about  a  mouth.  She's  young  —  my 
own  lost  youth  smites  me!  Here,  Wayne,  behold 
her  counterfeit  presentment!" 

Wayne  inhaled  a  last  deep  draught  of  his  cigar 
ette  and  dropped  it  into  the  ash  tray.  He  took 
the  case  into  his  fingers  and  bent  over  it,  a  slight 
smile  on  his  lips. 

"Be  careful!  Be  careful!"  ejaculated  his  sister. 
"This  is  a  crucial  moment." 

WTayne's  empty  hand  that  lay  on  the  table  slowly 
opened  and  shut;  the  smile  left  his  lips,  but  he  con 
tinued  to  study  the  picture. 

"Well,  Wayne!  Are  you  having  so  much  trouble 
to  make  up  your  mind  ? "  demanded  Mrs.  Blair, 
her  keen  sensibilities  aroused  by  the  fixedness  of 
Wayne's  stare  at  the  likeness  before  him  and  the 
resulting  interval  of  suspense.  There  was  something 
here  that  she  did  not  grasp,  and  she  was  a  woman 
who  resented  being  left  in  the  dark.  This  inter 
view  with  her  father  had  been  trying  enough,  but 
her  brother's  manner  struck  her  ominously.  Colonel 
Craighill  smiled  urbanely,  undisturbed  by  his  son's 
prolonged  scrutiny  of  the  face  in  the  locket;  he 
attached  no  great  importance  to  Wayne's  opinions 
on  any  subject.  To  Mrs.  Blair,  however,  the 
silence  became  intolerable  and  she  demanded: 

"Are  you  hypnotized  —  or  what  has  struck  you, 
Wayne?" 


20     THE   LORDS   OF   HIGH   DECISION 

"Nothing  at  all!"  he  laughed,  closing  the  locket 
and    handing    it    back.     "I    have    no    criticism  - 
most  certainly  none.     Father,  I  offer  my  congratu 
lations." 

And  this  happened  midway  of  September,  in  the 
year  of  our  Lord  nineteen  hundred  and  seven. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE    LADY   OF    DIFFICULT   OCCASIONS 

THE  Lady  of  Difficult  Occasions  —  such  was 
the  title  conferred  upon  Mrs.  John  McCand- 
less  Blair  by  Dick  Wingfield  —  looked  less  than  her 
thirty-two  years.  A  slender,  nervous  woman,  Mrs. 
Blair  had  contributed  from  early  girlhood  to  the 
picturesqueness  of  life  in  her  city.  Her  interests 
were  many  and  varied;  she  did  what  she  liked  and 
was  supremely  indifferent  to  criticism.  She  wore 
colours  that  no  other  woman  would  have  dared; 
for  colour,  she  maintained,  possesses  the  strongest 
psychical  significance,  and  to  keep  in  tune  with 
things  infinite  one's  wardrobe  must  reflect  the 
rainbow.  She  had  tried  all  extant  religions  and 
had  revived  a  number  long  considered  obsolete; 
her  garret  was  a  valhalla  of  discarded  gods.  One 
day  the  scent  of  joss-sticks  clung  to  the  draperies 
of  her  library,  the  next  she  dipped  her  finger  boldly 
in  the  holy  water  font  at  the  door  of  the  Catholic 
cathedral  and  sent  a  subscription  to  the  Little 
Sisters  of  the  Poor. 

She  appeared  fitfully  in  the  Blair  pew  at  Memorial 
Presbyterian  Church,  where  her  father  was  ruling 
elder  and  her  husband  passed  the  plate;  and 
Memorial,  we  may  say,  was  the  most  fashionable 

21 


22  THE   LORDS   OF 

house  of  prayer  and  worship  in  town,  frowning  down 
severely  upon  the  Allequippa  Club  over  the  way. 
"Fanny  Blair  is  sure  of  heaven,"  Dick  Wingfield 
said,  "for  she  has  tickets  to  all  the  gates."  Mrs. 
Blair  was  generous  in  her  quixotic  fashion;  her 
husband  had  inherited  wealth,  and  he  was,  more 
over,  a  successful  lawyer,  who  admired  her  immensely 
and  encouraged  her  foibles.  She  dressed  her  twin 
boys  after  portraits  of  the  Stuart  princes,  and  their 
velvet  and  long  curls  caused  many  riots  at  the  public 
school  they  attended  —  sent  there,  she  said,  that 
they  might  grow  up  strong  in  the  democratic  spirit. 

When  they  had  adjourned  to  the  library  Mrs. 
Blair  spoke  in  practical  ways  of  the  new  wife's 
home-coming.  She  tendered  her  own  services  in 
any  changes  her  father  wished  in  the  house.  Some 
of  her  mother's  personal  belongings  she  frankly 
stated  her  purpose  to  remove.  They  were  things 
that  did  not,  to  Colonel  Craighill's  masculine  mind, 
seem  particularly  interesting  or  valuable.  Wayne 
grew  restless  as  his  father  and  sister  considered 
these  matters.  He  moved  about  idly,  throwing 
in  a  word  now  and  then  when  Mrs.  Blair  appealed 
to  him  directly.  Evenings  at  home  had  become 
unusual  events,  and  domestic  affairs  bored  him. 
Mrs.  Blair  was,  however,  sensitive  to  his  moods 
and  she  continued  her  efforts  to  hold  him  within 
the  circle  of  their  talk. 

"  Don't  you  think  a  reception  —  something  large 
and  general  —  would  be  a  good  thing  at  the  start, 
Wayne?" 


HIGH  DECISION  23 

"Yes;  oh,  yes,  by  all  means,"  he  replied,  looking 
up  from  a  publisher's  advertisement  that  he  had 
been  reading. 

He  left  the  room  unnoticed  a  few  minutes  later 
and  wandered  into  the  wide  hall,  feeling  the  atmos 
phere  of  the  house  flow  around  him.  It  was  the 
local  custom,  in  our  ready  American  fashion  of 
conferring  antiquity,  to  speak  of  the  mansion  as 
the  old  Craighill  place.  The  house,  built  originally 
in  the  early  seventies,  had  recently  been  remodelled 
and  enlarged.  It  occupied  half  a  block,  and  the 
grounds  were  beautifully  kept,  faithful  to  traditions 
of  Mrs.  Craighill's  taste.  The  full  force  of  the 
impending  change  in  his  father's  life  now  struck 
Wayne  for  the  first  time.  There  is  no  eloquence 
like  that  of  absence.  He  stood  by  the  open  drawing 
room  door  with  his  childhood  and  youth  calling  to 
all  his  senses.  The  thought  of  his  mother  stole 
across  his  memory  —  a  gentle,  bright,  smiling  spirit. 
The  pictures  on  the  walls;  the  familiar  furniture; 
the  broad  fireplace;  the  tall  bronze  vases  that 
guarded  the  glass  doors  of  the  conservatory,  whose 
greenery  showed  at  the  end  of  the  long  room  — 
those  things  cried  to  him  now  with  a  new  appeal.  A 
great  bowl  of  yellow  chrysanthemums,  glowing 
in  a  far  corner,  struck  upon  his  sight  like  flame. 
He  walked  the  length  of  the  room  and  gazed  up  at  a 
portrait  of  his  mother,  painted  in  Paris  by  a  famous 
artist.  Its  vitality  had  in  some  way  vanished; 
the  figure  no  longer  seemed  poised,  ready  to  step 
down  into  the  room.  The  luminous  quality  of  the 


24  THE   LORDS   OF 

face  was  gone;  the  eyes  were  not  so  brightly  responsive 
as  of  old — he  was  so  sure  of  these  differences  that  he 
flashed  off  the  frame  lights  with  a  half-conscious 
feeling  that  a  shadow  had  fallen  upon  the  spirit 
represented  there,  and  that  it  was  kinder  to  leave 
it  in  darkness. 

His  sister  called  him  on  some  pretext  —  he  was 
very  dear  to  her  and  the  fact  that  he  and  his  father 
were  so  utterly  unsympathetic  increased  her  tender 
ness — and  repeated  the  programme  of  entertainments 
which  she  had  proposed. 

"It's  quite  ample.  There's  never  any  question 
about  your  doing  enough,  Fanny,"  he  remarked 
indifferently. 

Colonel  Craighill  announced  that  he  must  go 
down  to  the  Club  to  a  meeting  of  the  Executive 
Committee  of  the  Greater  City  Improvement  League, 
in  which  his  son-in-law  was  interested. 

"Wayne,  you  will  take  Fanny  home  in  your  own 
car,  won't  you  ?  Or  maybe  you'll  wait  for  John 
to  stop?" 

"I  must  go  soon;  Wayne  will  look  after  me," 
she  said,  and  they  both  went  to  the  door  to  see 
their  father  off. 

"  It's  like  old  times,"  she  sighed,  as  the  motor  moved 
away;  "but  those  times  won't  come  any  more." 

Then  with  a  change  of  manner  she  turned  upon 
Wayne  and  seized  his  hands. 

"  Wayne,  have  you  ever  seen  that  woman  before?" 

He  shook  himself  free  with  a  roughness  that 
was  unlike  him. 


HIGH   DECISION  25 

"Don't  be  silly:  of  course  not.  I  never  heard 
of  her.  How  did  you  get  that  idea?" 

"You  looked  as  though  you  were  seeing  a  ghost 
when  you  looked  at  her  picture." 

"I  was  thinking  of  ghosts,  Fanny,  but  I  wasn't 
seeing  one."  He  lighted  a  cigar.  "I  must  say 
that  your  tact  sometimes  leaves  you  at  fatal  moments. 
The  Colonel  was  almost  at  the  point  of  getting  mad. 
He  wanted  to  be  jollied  —  and  you  did  all  you 
could  to  irritate  him." 

"I  had  a  perfect  right  to  say  what  I  pleased  to 
him.  How  do  you  suppose  he  came  to  walk  into 
this  adventuress's  trap?  A  girl  of  twenty-nine! 
The  hunt  will  be  up  as  soon  as  he  makes  the 
announcement  and  the  whole  town  will  join  the 
pack." 

"The  town  will  have  to  stand  it  if  we  can." 

"It's  the  loss  of  his  own  dignity,  it's  the  affront 
to  mother's  memory  —  this  young  thing  with  her 
pretty  marcelled  head!  There  are  some  things 
that  ought  to  be  sacred  in  this  world,  and  father 
ought  to  remember  what  our  mother  was  —  how 
noble  and  beautiful!" 

"Well,  we  know  it,  Fanny;  she's  our  memory  now 
—  not  his,"  said  Wayne  gently;  and  upon  this  they 
were  silent  for  a  time,  and  Fanny  wept  softly.  When 
Wayne  spoke  again  it  was  in  a  different  key. 

"Well,  father  has  his  nerve  to  be  getting  married 
right  on  the  verge  of  a  panic.  Perhaps  he  is  doing 
it  merely  to  reassure  the  public,  to  steady  the  market, 
so  to  speak." 


26  THE   LORDS   OF 

"But  papa  says  there  will  be  no  panic.  The 
Star  printed  a  long  interview  with  him  only  yesterday. 
He  says  there  must  be  a  readjustment  of  values, 
that's  all;  he  must  be  right  about  it." 

"  Bless  you,  yes,  Fanny.  If  father  says  there 
won't  be  any  panic,  why,  there  won't!  What  does 
John  say?" 

"Well,  John  is  always  cautioning  me  about 
our  expenses,"  she  admitted  ruefully,  so  that  he 
laughed  at  her.  "But  great  heavens,  Wayne!"  she 
exclaimed. 

"Well,  what's  the  matter  now?" 

"  Why,  he  never  told  us  a  thing  about  her.  Who 
do  you  suppose  introduced  him  to  her?" 

"My  dear  Fanny,"  began  Wayne,  thrusting  his 
long  legs  out  at  comfortable  ease,  "can  you  imagine 
our  father  dear  being  worked  ?  He  backed  off 
and  sparred  for  time  when  you  wanted  to  marry 
John,  though  John  belongs  to  our  old  Scotch-Irish 
Brahmin  caste,  because  a  Blair  once  owned  a 
distillery  back  in  the  dark  ages,  and  there  was  no 
telling  but  the  sins  of  the  rye  juice  might  be  visited 
on  your  children  to  the  third  and  fourth  generation 
if  you  married  John.  And  if  I  had  craved  the 
Colonel's  permission  to  marry  some  girl  in  another 
town  —  some  girl,  let  us  say,  that  /  had  met  on  a 
steamer  going  to  Bermuda  —  you  may  be  dead 
sure  he  would  have  put  detectives  on  her  family 
and  had  a  careful  assay  made  of  her  moral  character. 
Trust  the  Colonel,  Fanny,  for  caution  in  such 
matters!  Don't  you  think  for  a  minute  that  he 


HIGH  DECISION  27 

hasn't  investigated  Miss  Adelaide  Allen's  family 
into  its  most  obscure  and  inaccessible  recesses! 
Our  father  was  not  born  yesterday;  our  father 
is  the  great  Colonel  Roger  Craighill,  a  prophet 
honoured  even  on  his  own  Monongahela.  Father 
never  makes  mistakes,  Fanny.  I'm  his  only  mistake. 
I'm  a  great  grief  to  father.  He  has  frequently 
admitted  it.  He  begs  me  please  not  to  forget  that 
I  am  his  son.  I  am  beyond  any  question  a  bad 
lot;  I  have  raised  no  end  of  hell;  I  have  frequently 
been  drunk  —  beastly,  fighting  drunk.  And  father 
will  go  to  his  dear  pastor  and  ask  him  to  pray  for 
me,  and  he  will  admit  to  old  sympathizing  friends 
that  I'm  an  awful  disappointment  to  him.  That's 
the  reason  he  stopped  lecturing  me  long  ago;  he 
doesn't  want  me  to  keep  sober;  when  I  get  drunk 
and  smash  bread  wagons  in  the  dewy  dawn  with 
my  machine  after  a  night  among  the  ungodly  he 
puts  on  his  martyr's  halo  and  asks  his  pastor  to 
plead  with  God  for  me!" 

"Wayne!  Wayne!  What's  the  matter  with 
you?" 

He  had  spoken  rapidly  and  with  a  bitterness  that 
utterly  confounded  her;  and  he  laughed  now 
mirthlessly. 

"It's  all  right,  Fanny.  I'm  a  rotten  bad  lot. 
No  wonder  the  Colonel  has  given  me  up;  but  I 
have  the  advantage  of  him  there:  I've  given  myself 
up!  Yes,  I've  given  myself  up,"  he  repeated, 
and  nodded  his  head  several  times  as  though  he 
found  pleasure  in  the  thought. 


CHAPTER  III 

A  LETTER,  A  BOTTLE  AND  AN  OLD  FRIEND 

WHEN  Wayne  had  taken  Mrs.  Blair  to  her 
own  home  and  had  promised  on  her  door 
step  to  be  "good"  and  to  come  to  her  house  soon 
for  a  further  discussion  of  family  affairs,  he  told 
Joe,  the  chauffeur,  that  he  wished  to  drive  the 
machine,  and  was  soon  running  toward  town  at 
maximum  speed. 

Joe,  huddled  in  an  old  ulster,  watched  the  car's 
flight  with  misgivings,  for  this  mad  race  preluded 
one  of  Wayne's  outbreaks;  and  Joe  was  no  mere 
hireling,  but  a  devoted  slave  who  grieved  when 
Wayne,  as  Joe  put  it,  "scorched  the  toboggan." 

Joe  Denny's  status  at  the  Craighill  house  was 
not  clearly  defined.  He  lodged  in  the  garage  and 
appeared  irregularly  in  the  servants'  dining  room 
with  the  recognized  chauffeur  who  drove  the  senior 
Craighill  in  his  big  car.  It  had  been  suggested 
in  some  quarters  that  Colonel  Craighill  employed 
Joe  Denny  to  keep  track  of  Wayne  and  to  take 
care  of  him  when  he  was  tearing  things  loose;  but 
this  was  not  only  untrue  but  unjust  to  Joe.  Joe 
had  been  a  coal  miner  before  he  became  the  "star" 
player  of  the  Pennsylvania  State  League,  and 
Wayne  had  marked  his  pitching  one  day  while 

28 


THE   LORDS   OF  HIGH  DECISION     29 

killing  time  between  trains  at  Altoona.  His  sang 
froid  —  an  essential  of  the  successful  pitcher,  and 
the  ease  with  which  he  baffled  the  batters  of  the 
opposing  nine,  aroused  Wayne's  interest.  Joe 
Denny  enjoyed  at  this  time  a  considerable  rep 
utation,  his  fame  penetrating  even  to  the  dis 
criminating  circles  of  the  National  League,  with 
the  result  that  "scouts"  had  been  sent  to  study 
his  performances.  When  a  fall  from  an  omnibus 
interrupted  Joe's  professional  career,  Wayne,  who 
had  kept  track  of  him,  paid  his  hospital  charges, 
and  Joe  thereupon  moved  his  "glass"  arm  to 
Pittsburg.  By  shrewd  observation  he  learned  the 
management  of  a  motor  car,  and  attached  himself 
without  formality  to  the  person  of  Wayne  Craighill. 
For  more  than  a  year  he  had  thus  been  half  guardian, 
half  protege.  Wayne's  friends  had  learned  to  know 
him;  they  even  sent  for  him  on  occasions  to  take 
Wayne  home  when  he  was  getting  beyond  control; 
and  Wayne  himself  had  grown  to  depend  upon  the 
young  fellow.  It  was  something  to  have  a  follower 
whom  one  could  abuse  at  will  without  having  to 
apologize  afterward.  Besides,  Joe  was  wise  and 
keen.  He  knew  all  the  inner  workings  of  the 
Craighill  household;  he  advised  the  Scotch  gar 
dener  in  matters  pertaining  to  horticulture,  to  the 
infinite  disgust  of  that  person;  he  adorned  the  barn 
with  portraits  of  leading  ball  players,  cut  from 
sporting  supplements,  and  this  gallery  of  famous 
men  was  a  source  of  great  irritation  to  Colonel 
Craighill's  solemn  German  chauffeur,  who  had  not 


30  THE   LORDS   OF 

the  slightest  interest  in,  or  acquaintance  with,  the 
American  national  game.  Joe's  fidelity  to  Wayne's 
interests  was  so  unobtrusive  and  intelligent  that 
Wayne  himself  was  hardly  conscious  of  it.  Such 
items  of  news  as  the  prospective  arrival  or  departure 
of  Colonel  Craighill;  the  fact  that  he  wras  trading 
his  old  machine  for  a  new  one;  or  that  Walsh, 
Colonel  Craighill's  trusted  lieutenant,  had  bought 
a  new  team  of  Kentucky  roadsters  for  his  daily 
drive  in  the  park  —  or  that  John  McCandless 
Blair,  Wayne's  brother-in-law,  was  threatened  with 
a  nomination  for  mayor  on  a  Reform  ticket  — 
such  items  as  these  Joe  collected  through  agencies 
of  his  own  and  imparted  to  Wayne  for  his  better 
instruction. 

To-night  the  lust  for  drink  had  laid  hold  upon 
Wayne  and  his  rapid  flight  through  the  cool  air 
sharpened  the  edge  of  his  craving  in  every  tingling, 
excited  nerve.  His  body  swayed  over  the  wheel; 
he  passed  other  vehicles  by  narrow  margins  that 
caused  Joe  to  shudder;  and  policemen,  looking 
after  him,  swore  quietly  and  telephoned  to  head 
quarters  that  young  Craighill  was  running  wild 
again.  He  had  started  for  the  Allequippa  Club, 
but,  remembering  that  his  father  was  there,  changed 
his  mind.  The  governors  of  the  Penn,  the  most 
sedate  and  exclusive  of  the  Greater  City's  clubs, 
had  lately  sent  a  polite  threat  of  expulsion  for  an 
abuse  of  its  privileges  during  a  spree,  and  that  door 
was  shut  in  his  face.  The  thought  of  this  enraged 
him  now  as  he  spun  through  the  narrow  streets 


HIGH  DECISION  31 

in  the  business  district.  Very  likely  all  the  clubs 
in  town  would  be  closed  against  him  before  long. 
Then  with  increased  speed  he  drove  the  car  to  the 
Craighill  building,  told  Joe  to  wait,  passed  the 
watchman  on  duty  at  the  door  and  ascended  to 
the  Craighill  offices. 

A  lone  book-keeper  was  at  work,  and  Wayne 
spoke  to  him  and  passed  on  to  his  own  room. 

He  turned  on  the  lights  and  began  pulling  out 
the  drawers  of  his  desk,  turning  over  their  contents 
with  a  feverish  haste  that  increased  their  disorder. 
Presently  he  found  what  he  sought :  a  large  envelope 
marked  "Private,  W.  C."  in  his  own  hand.  He 
slapped  it  on  the  desk  to  free  it  of  dust,  then  tore 
it  open  and  drew  out  a  number  of  letters,  addressed 
in  a  woman's  hand  to  himself,  and  a  photograph, 
which  he  held  up  and  scrutinized  with  eyes  that 
were  disagreeably  hard  and  bright.  It  was  not 
the  same  photograph  that  his  father  had  shown  at 
the  dinner  table,  but  it  represented  another  view 
of  the  same  head  —  there  was  no  doubt  of  that. 
He  studied  it  carefully;  it  seemed,  indeed,  to  exercise 
a  spell  upon  him.  He  recalled  what  Mrs.  Blair 
had  said  about  the  eyes;  but  in  this  picture  they 
seemed  to  conspire  with  a  smile  on  the  girl's  lips 
to  tease  and  tantalize. 

A  number  of  letters  that  had  been  placed  on  his  desk 
after  he  left  the  office  caught  his  eye.  One  or  two 
invitations  to  large  social  affairs  he  tossed  into 
the  waste-paper  basket;  he  was  only  bidden  now 
to  the  most  general  functions.  He  caught  up  an 


32  THE   LORDS   OF 

envelope  bearing  the  legend  of  a  New  York  hotel 
and  a  typewritten  superscription.  He  tore  this 
open,  still  muttering  his  wrath  at  the  discarded 
invitations,  and  then  sat  down  and  read  eagerly  a 
letter  in  a  woman's  irregular  hand  dated  two  days 
earlier: 


DEAR  WAYNE: 

"You  wouldn't  believe  I  could  do  it,  and  I  am 
not  sure  of  it  yet  myself;  but  I  wanted  to  prepare 
you  before  he  breaks  the  news.  There's  a  whole 
lot  to  tell  that  I  won't  bore  you  with  —  for  you 
do  hate  to  be  bored,  you  crazy  boy.  Wayne,  I'm 
going  to  marry  your  father!  Don't  be  angry  — 
please!  I  know  everything  that  you  will  think 
when  you  read  this  --  but  mama  has  driven  me 
to  it.  She  never  forgave  me  for  letting  you  go, 
and  life  with  her  has  become  intolerable.  And 
please  believe  this,  Wayne.  I  really  respect  and 
admire  your  father  more  than  any  man  I  have  met, 
and  can't  you  see  what  it  will  mean  to  me  to  get 
away  from  this  hideous  life  I  have  been  leading? 
Why,  Wayne,  I'd  rather  die  than  go  on  as  we  have 
lived  all  these  years,  knocking  around  the  world 
and  mama  raising  money  to  keep  us  going  in  ways 
I  can't  speak  of.  You  know  the  whole  story  of 
that.  I  let  mama  think  I  am  doing  this  to  please 
her,  but  I  am  not.  I  am  doing  it  to  get  away  from 
her.  I  have  made  her  promise  to  let  me  alone, 
and  I  will  do  all  I  can  for  her.  She's  going  abroad 
right  after  my  marriage  and  I  hate  to  say  it  of  my 
own  mother,  but  I  hope  never  to  see  her  again. 

"Of  course  you  could  probably  stop  the  marriage 
by  telling  your  father  how  near  we  came  to  hitting 
it  off.  I  have  always  felt  that  you  were  unjust  to 


HIGH  DECISION  33 

me  in  that  —  I  really  cared  more  for  you  than  I 
knew  —  but  that's  all  over  now.  That  was  another 
of  mama's  mistakes.  She  let  her  greed  get  the  better 
of  her  and  I  suffered.  But  let  us  be  good  friends  — 
shan't  we  ?  You  know  more  about  me  than  any 
body,  Wayne  —  how  ignorant  I  am,  and  all  that. 
Why,  I  had  to  study  hard  —  mama  suggested  it, 
that's  the  kind  of  thing  she  can  do  —  to  learn  to 
talk  to  your  father  about  politics  and  philanthropy 
and  those  things.  If  anything  should  happen  — 
if  you  should  spoil  it  all,  I  don't  know  what  mama 
would  do;  but  it  would  be  something  unpleasant, 
be  sure  of  that.  She  sold  everything  we  had  to 
follow  your  father  about  to  those  small,  select 
places  he  loves  so  well. 

"I  am  going  to  try  to  live  up  to  your  father's 
good  name.  I  don't  believe  I'm  bad.  I'm  just 
a  kind  of  featherweight;  and  you  will  be  nice  to 
me,  won't  you,  when  I  come  ?  Your  father  has 
told  me  everything  —  about  the  old  house  and 
how  it  belongs  to  you.  Of  course  you  won't  run 
away  and  leave  me  and  you  will  help  me  to  hit 
it  off  with  your  sister,  too.  He  says  she's  a  little 
difficult,  but  I  know  she  must  be  interesting.  As 
you  see,  I've  taken  mama's  name  by  her  second 
marriage  since  our  little  affair.  Explanations  had 
grown  tiresome  and  mama  enjoys  playing  to  the 
refined  sensibilities  of  those  nice  people  who  think 
three  marriages  are  not  quite  respectable  for  one 
woman  .  .  . 

He  read  on  to  the  end,  through  more  in  the  same 
strain.  He  flinched  at  the  reference  to  the  home 
and  to  his  sister,  but  at  the  close  he  lighted  a  cigarette 
and  re-read  the  whole  calmly. 


34  THE   LORDS   OF 

"  It  was  your  dear  mother  that  caught  the  Colonel, 
Addie;  you  are  pretty  and  you  like  clothes  and 
you  know  how  to  wear  them,  but  you  haven't  your 
dear  mother's  strategic  mind.  Oh,  you  were  a 
sucker,  Colonel,  and  they  took  you  in!  You  are 
so  satisfied  with  your  own  virtue,  and  you  are  so 
pained  by  my  degradation!  Let's  see  where  you 
come  out." 

He  continued  to  mutter  to  himself  as  he  re-folded 
the  letter.  He  grinned  his  appreciation  of  the  care 
which  had  caused  its  author  to  avoid  the  placing 
of  any  tell-tale  handwriting  on  the  envelope.  "I'm 
a  bad,  bad  lot,  Colonel,  but  there  are  traps  my 
poor  wandering  feet  have  not  stumbled  into." 

He  glanced  hurriedly  at  the  packet  of  letters 
that  he  had  found  with  the  photograph  and  then 
thrust  this  latest  letter  in  with  the  others  and  locked 
them  all  in  a  tin  box  he  found  in  one  of  the  drawers. 
When  this  had  been  disposed  of  he  pulled  the  desk 
out  from  the  wall  and  drew  from  a  hidden  cupboard 
in  the  back  of  it  a  quart  bottle  of  whiskey  and  a 
glass.  The  sight  of  the  liquor  caused  the  craving 
of  an  hour  before  to  seize  upon  him  with  renewed 
fury.  He  felt  himself  suddenly  detached,  alone, 
with  nothing  else  in  the  world  but  himself  and  this 
bright  fluid.  It  flashed  and  sparkled  alluringly, 
causing  all  his  senses  to  leap.  At  a  gulp  his  blood 
would  run  with  fire,  and  the  little  devils  would 
begin  to  dance  in  his  brain,  and  he  could  plan  a 
thousand  evil  deeds  that  he  was  resolved  to  do. 
He  was  the  Blotter,  and  a  blotter  was  a  worthless 


HIGH  DECISION  35 

thing  to  be  used  and  tossed  aside  by  every  one  as 
worthless.  He  would  accept  the  world's  low 
appraisement  without  question,  but  he  would  take 
vengeance  in  his  own  fashion.  He  grasped  the 
bottle,  filled  the  glass  to  the  brim  and  was  about 
to  carry  it  to  his  lips  when  the  clerk  whom  he 
had  passed  in  the  outer  office  knocked  sharply, 
and,  without  waiting,  flung  open  the  door. 

"Beg  pardon,  but  here's  a  gentleman  to  see  you, 
Mr  Craighill." 

With  the  glass  half  raised,  Wayne  turned  impa 
tiently  to  greet  a  short  man  who  stood  smiling  at 
the  door. 

"Hello,   Craighill!" 

"Jimmy  Paddock!"  blurted  Wayne. 

The  odour  of  whiskey  was  keen  on  the  air  and 
Wayne's  hand  shook  with  the  eagerness  of  his 
appetite;  but  the  fool  of  a  clerk  had  surprised 
him  at  a  singularly  inopportune  moment.  He 
slowly  lowered  the  glass  to  the  desk,  his  eyes  upon 
his  caller,  who  paused  on  the  threshold  for  an 
instant,  then  strode  in  with  outstretched  hand. 

'That  delightful  chauffeur  of  yours  told  me  you 
were  here  and  I  thought  I  wouldn't  wait  for  a  better 
chance  to  look  you  up.  Had  to  come  into  town 
on  an  errand  -  -  was  waiting  for  the  trolley  — 
recognized  your  man  and  here  I  am!  Well!" 

The  glass  was  at  last  safe  on  the  desk  and  Wayne, 
still  dazed  by  the  suddenness  with  which  his  thirst 
had  been  defrauded,  turned  his  back  upon  it  and 
greeted  Paddock  coldly.  The  Reverend  James 


36  THE   LORDS   OF 

Paddock  had  already  taken  a  chair,  with  his  face 
turned  away  from  the  bottle,  and  he  plunged  into 
lively  talk  to  cover  Craighill's  embarrassment. 
They  had  not  met  for  five  years,  and  then  it  had 
been  by  mere  chance  in  Boston,  when  they  were 
both  running  for  trains  that  carried  one  to  the 
mountains  and  the  other  to  the  sea.  Their  ways 
had  parted  definitely  when  they  left  their  pre 
paratory  school,  Wayne  to  enter  the  "Tech," 
Paddock  to  go  to  Harvard.  Wayne  was  not  in 
the  least  pleased  to  see  this  old  comrade  of  his 
youth:  there  was  a  wide  gulf  of  time  to  bridge  and 
Wayne  shrank  from  the  effort  of  flinging  his  memory 
across  it.  As  Paddock  unbuttoned  his  topcoat, 
Wayne  noted  the  clerical  collar  —  noted  it,  it  must 
be  confessed,  with  contempt.  He  remembered 
Paddock  as  a  rather  silent  boy,  but  the  young 
minister  talked  eagerly  with  infinite  good  spirits, 
chuckling  now  and  then  in  a  way  that  Wayne 
remembered.  As  his  resentment  of  the  intrusion 
passed,  some  reference  to  their  old  days  at 
St.  John's  awakened  his  curiosity  as  to  one  or 
two  of  their  classmates  and  certain  of  the  masters, 
and  Wayne  began  to  take  part  in  the  talk. 

Jimmy  Paddock  had  been  a  homely  boy,  and 
the  years  had  not  improved  his  looks.  His  skin 
was  very  dark,  and  his  hair  black,  but  his  eyes 
were  a  deep,  unusual  blue.  A  sad  smile  somehow 
emphasized  the  plainness  of  his  clean-shaven  face. 
He  spoke  with  a  curious  rapidity,  the  words  jumbling 
at  times,  and  after  trying  vaguely  to  recall  some 


HIGH  DECISION  37 

idiosyncrasy  that  had  set  the  boy  apart,  Wayne 
remembered  that  Paddock  had  stammered,  and 
this  swift  utterance  with  its  occasional  abrupt 
pauses  was  due  to  his  method  of  conquering  the 
difficulty.  Behind  the  short,  well-knit  figure  Wayne 
saw  outlined  the  youngster  who  had  been  the  wonder 
of  the  preparatory  school  football  team  for  two  years, 
and  later  at  Harvard  the  hero  of  the  'Varsity  eleven. 
There  was  no  question  of  identification  as  to  the 
physical  man;  but  the  boy  he  had  known  had  led 
in  the  wildest  mischief  of  the  school.  He  distinctly 
recollected  occasions  on  which  Jimmy  Paddock 
had  been  caned,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  belonged 
to  a  New  England  family  of  wealth  and  social 
distinction.  Paddock,  writh  his  chair  tipped  back 
and  his  hands  thrust  into  his  pockets,  volunteered 
answers  to  some  of  the  questions  that  were  in 
Wayne's  mind. 

"You  see,  Craighill,  when  I  got  out  of  college 
my  father  wanted  me  to  go  into  the  law,  but  I  tried 
the  law  school  for  about  a  month  and  it  was  no 
good,  so  I  chucked  it.  The  fact  is,  I  didn't  wTant 
to  do  anything,  and  I  used  to  hit  it  up  occasionally 
and  paint  things  to  assert  my  independence  of 
public  opinion.  It  was  no  use;  couldn't  get  famous 
that  way;  only  invited  the  parental  wrath.  Then 
a  yellow  newspaper  printed  a  whole  page  of  pictures 
of  American  degenerates,  sons  of  rich  families,  and 
would  you  believe  it,  there  I  was,  like  Abou  Ben 
Adhem,  leading  all  the  rest!  It  almost  broke  my 
mother's  heart,  and  my  father  stopped  speaking 


38  THE   LORDS  OF 

to  me.  It  struck  in  on  me,  too,  to  find  myself 
heralded  as  a  common  blackguard,  so  I  went  into 
exile  —  way  up  in  the  Maine  woods  and  lived  with 
the  lumber-jacks.  Up  there  I  met  Paul  Stoddard. 
He's  the  head  of  the  Brothers  of  Bethlehem  who 
have  a  house  over  here  in  Virginia.  The  brothers 
work  principally  among  men  —  miners,  sailors, 
lumbermen.  It's  a  great  work  and  Stoddard's  a 
big  chap,  as  strong  as  a  bull,  who  knows  how  to 
get  close  to  all  kinds  of  people.  I  learned  all  I 
know  from  Stoddard.  One  night  as  I  lay  there 
in  my  shanty  it  occurred  to  me  that  never  in  my 
whole  stupid  life  had  I  done  anything  for  anybody. 
Do  you  see?  I  wasn't  converted,  in  the  usual 
sense"  -his  manner  was  wholly  serious  now, 
and  he  bent  toward  Wayne  with  the  sad  little  smile 
about  his  lips  -  "I  didn't  feel  that  God  was  calling 
me  or  anything  of  that  kind;  I  felt  that  Man  was 
calling  me:  I  used  to  go  to  bed  and  lie  awake  up 
there  in  the  woods  and  hear  the  wind  howling  and 
the  snow  sifting  in  through  the  logs,  and  that  idea 
kept  worrying  me.  A  lot  of  the  jacks  got  typhoid 
fever,  and  there  wasn't  a  doctor  within  reach  any 
where,  so  I  did  the  best  I  could  for  them.  For  the 
first  time  in  my  life  I  really  felt  that  here  was  some 
thing  worth  doing,  and  it  was  fun,  too.  Stoddard 
went  from  there  down  to  New  York  to  spend  a 
month  in  the  East  Side  and  I  hung  on  to  him  —  I 
was  afraid  to  let  go  of  him.  He  gave  me  things  to 
do,  and  he  suggested  that  I  go  into  the  ministry  - 
said  my  work  would  be  more  effective  with  an 


HIGH  DECISION  39 

organization  behind  me  —  but  I  ducked  and  ducked 
hard.  I  told  him  the  truth,  about  what  I  didn't 
believe,  this  and  that  and  so  on;  but  he  put  the 
thing  to  me  in  a  new  way.  He  said  nobody  could 
believe  in  man  who  didn't  believe  in  God,  too!  Do 
you  get  the  idea?  Well,  I  was  a  long  time  coming 
to  see  it  that  way. 

"It  was  no  good  going  home  to  knock  around 
and  no  use  discussing  such  a  thing  with  my  family, 
and  I  knew  people  would  think  me  crazy.  Stoddard 
was  going  West,  to  do  missionary  stunts  in  Michigan, 
where  there  were  more  lumber  camps,  so  I  went 
along.  I  used  to  help  him  with  the  lumber-jacks, 
and  try  to  keep  the  booze  out  of  them;  and  first 
thing  I  knew  he  had  me  reading  and  getting  ready 
for  orders;  he  said  I'd  better  keep  clear  of  divinity 
schools;  and  I  guess  he  had  figured  it  out  that  if 
I  got  too  much  divinity  I  would  get  scared  and 
back  water.  Then  I  went  home  and  broke  the 
news  to  the  family.  They  didn't  take  much  stock 
in  it;  they  thought  I  would  take  a  tumble  and  be 
a  worse  disgrace  than  ever.  But  there  was  plenty 
of  money  and  I  had  no  head  for  business,  anyhow, 
and  there  was  a  chance  that  I  might  become  respect 
able,  so  I  got  ordained  very  quietly  three  years  ago 
at  a  mission  away  up  on  Lake  Superior  where  a  bishop 
had  taken  an  interest  in  me  —  and  here  I  am." 

The  minister  drew  a  pipe  from  his  pocket,  filled 
and  lighted  it,  shaking  his  head  at  Craighill's  offei 
of  a  cigar. 

"Thanks;   I  prefer  this.     Hope  the  smoke  won't 


40  THE   LORDS   OF 

be  painful  to  you;  it's  a  brand  they  affect  out  in 
my  suburb,  but  it's  better  than  what  we  used  to 
have  up  in  the  lumber  camps.  I  still  take  the 
comfort  of  a  pipe,  but  the  drink  I  cut  out  and 
the  swearing.  As  I  remember,  it  was  you  who  taught 
me  to  cuss  in  school  because  my  stammering  made 
it  sound  so  funny." 

Wayne  had  recalled  a  good  many  things  about 
Paddock  but  the  mood  he  had  brought  from  his 
father's  house  did  not  yield  readily  to  the  confessions 
of  this  boyhood  friend  who  had  reappeared  in  the 
livery  of  the  Christian  ministry.  The  new  status 
was  difficult  for  Craighill  to  accept  and,  conscious 
of  the  antagonism  his  recital  had  awakened,  Paddock 
regretted  that  he  had  volunteered  his  story.  The 
Craighill  whom  he  had  known  was  a  big,  generous, 
outspoken  fellow  whom  everybody  liked;  the  man 
before  him  was  morose  and  obstinately  resentful: 
and  the  fact  that  he  had  caught  him  in  his  own 
office  at  an  unusual  hour,  about  to  indulge  his 
notorious  appetite  for  drink,  was  in  itself  an  unhappy 
circumstance.  The  bottle  and  the  glass  were,  to 
say  the  least,  an  unfortunate  background  for 
reunion.  Paddock  touched  Wayne's  knee  lightly; 
he  wished  to  regain  the  ground  he  had  lost  by  his 
frankness,  which  had  so  signally  failed  of  response. 

"You  have  certainly  deviated  considerably," 
remarked  Wayne  without  humour.  "I  believe  they 
call  your  kind  of  thing  Christian  sociology,  and 
it's  all  right.  I  congratulate  you  on  having  struck 
something  interesting  in  this  life.  It's  more  than 


HIGH  DECISION  41 

I've  been  able  to  do.  Your  story  is  romantic  and 
beautiful;  mine  had  better  not  be  told,  Jimmy. 
I'm  as  bad  as  they're  made;  I've  hit  the  bottom 
hard.  When  you  came  in  I  had  just  reached  an 
important  conclusion,  and  was  going  to  empty  a 
quart  to  celebrate  the  event." 

"Well?"  inquired  the  minister,  studying  anew 
the  fine  head;  the  eyes  with  their  hard  glitter; 
the  lips  that  twitched  slightly;  the  fingers  whose 
trembling  he  had  noted  in  the  lighting  of  repeated 
cigarettes.  "Be  sure  I  shall  value  your  confidence, 
old  man,"  said  the  minister  encouragingly,  smiling 
his  sad  little  smile. 

"I'm  glad  you're  interested,  Jimmy,  but  we've 
chosen  different  routes.  Mine,  I  guess,  has  scenic 
advantages  over  yours  and  the  pace  is  faster.  You're 
headed  for  the  heavenly  kingdom.  I'm  going  to 
hell." 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   WAYS   OF  WAYNE    CRAIGHILL 

FOUR  days  passed.  Wayne  Craighill  ceased 
twirling  and  knotting  the  curtain  cord  and 
held  his  right  hand  against  the  strong  light  of  the 
office  window  to  test  his  nerves.  The  fingers 
twitched  and  trembled,  and  he  turned  away  impa 
tiently  and  flung  himself  into  a  chair  by  his  desk, 
hiding  his  hands  and  their  tell-tale  testimony  deep 
in  his  pockets.  Half  a  dozen  times  he  shook  him 
self  petulantly  and  attacked  his  work  with  frenzied 
eagerness,  as  though  to  be  rid  of  it  in  a  single  spurt ; 
but  after  an  hour  thus  futilely  spent  he  threw  him 
self  back  and  glared  at  a  large  etching,  depicting 
a  storm-driven  galleon  riding  wildly  under  a 
frightened  moon,  that  hung  against  the  dark-olive 
cartridge  paper  on  the  wall  above  his  desk.  Shadows 
appeared  now  and  then  on  the  ground-glass  outer 
door,  and  lingered  several  times,  testifying  to  their 
physical  embodiment  by  violently  seizing  and 
rattling  the  knob.  Craighill  scowled  at  every 
assault,  and  presently  when  some  importunate 
visitor  had  both  shaken  and  kicked  the  door,  he 
yawned  and  sought  the  window  again,  looking 
moodily  down,  as  from  a  hill-top,  upon  the  city 
of  his  birth,  where  practically  all  his  life  had  been 

42 


THE   LORDS   OF   HIGH  DECISION     43 

spent,  the  City  of  the  Iron  Heart,  lying  like  a  wedge 
at  the  confluence  of  the  two  broad  rivers. 

Wayne  had  used  himself  hard,  as  the  lines  in 
his  smooth-shaven  face  testified;  but  the  vigour 
of  the  Scotch-Irish  stock  survived  in  him,  and 
even  to-day  he  carried  his  tall  frame  erectly. 
His  head  covered  with  brown  hair  in  which  there 
was  a  reddish  glint,  was  really  fine  and  his  blue 
eyes,  not  just  now  at  their  clearest,  had  in  them 
the  least  hint  of  the  dreamer.  His  suit  of 
brown --a  solid  colour  —  became  him:  he  was 
dressed  with  an  added  scrupulousness  as  though 
in  conformity  to  an  inner  contrition  and  rehabili 
tation.  He  was  in  his  thirtieth  year  but  ap 
peared  older  to-day  as  his  gaze  lay  upon  the 
drifting,  shifting  smoke-cloud  that  hung  above 
the  Greater  City. 

The  son  of  Colonel  Roger  Craighill  was  inevitably 
a  conspicuous  person  in  his  native  city  and  his 
dissipated  habits  had  long  been  the  subject  of  des 
pairing  comment  by  his  fellow-citizens,  and  the 
text  of  occasiona  llightly  veiled  sermons  in  press 
and  pulpit.  Dick  Wingfield  had  once  remarked 
that  is  was  too  bad  that  there  were  only  ten  com 
mandments,  as  this  small  number  painfully  limited 
Wayne  Craighill's  possible  infractions.  It  was 
Wingfield  who  named  Wayne  Craighill  the  Blotter, 
in  appreciation  of  Wayne's  amazing  capacity  for 
drink;  and  it  was  he  who  said  that  Wayne's  sins 
were  merely  an  expression  of  the  law  of  compen 
sation  and  were  thrown  into  the  scale  to  offset 


44  THE   LORDS   OF 

Colonel  CraighilPs  nobility  and  virtue.  Whatever 
truth  may  lie  in  this,  it  is  indisputable  that  the 
elder  CraighilPs  rectitude  tended  to  heighten  the 
colour  of  his  son's  iniquities. 

The  Blotter  had  been  drunk  again.  This  is 
what  would  be  said  all  over  the  Greater  City.  At 
the  clubs  it  would  be  remarked  that  he  had  also 
had  a  fight  with  two  policemen,  and  that  he  had 
been  put  in  pickle  at  the  Country  Club  and  then 
smuggled  to  his  office  to  await  the  arrival  of  Colonel 
Craighill,  wrho  had  been  to  Cleveland  to  address 
something  or  other.  The  nobler  his  father's  errands 
abroad,  the  wickeder  were  the  Blotter's  diversions 
in  his  absences.  The  last  time  that  Roger  Craighill 
had  attended  the  General  Assembly  of  the  Presby 
terian  Church  Wayne  had  amused  himself  by 
violating  all  the  city  ordinances  that  interposed 
the  slightest  barriers  to  the  enjoyment  of  life  as 
he  understood  it.  But  the  Blotter,  it  is  only  just 
to  say,  was  still  capable  of  shame.  His  physical 
and  moral  reaction  to-day  were  acute;  and  he 
shrank  from  facing  the  world  again.  More  than 
all,  the  thought  of  meeting  his  father  face  to  face 
sent  the  hot  blood  surging  to  his  head,  intensifying 
its  dull  ache.  His  sister  Fanny  would  be  likely 
to  show  her  sympathy  and  confidence  by  promptly 
giving  a  tea  or  a  dinner  to  which  he  would  be 
specially  bidden,  to  demonstrate  to  the  world  that 
in  spite  of  his  derelictions  his  family  still  stood 
by  him.  The  remembrance  of  past  offenses,  and 
of  the  definite  routine  that  his  restorations  fol- 


HIGH   DECISION  45 

lowed,  only  increased  his  misery.  The  usual  inter 
view  with  his  father,  with  whose  mild,  martyr- 
like  forbearance  he  had  long  been  familiar,  rose 
before  him  intolerably. 

A  light  tap  at  the  inner  door  of  Wayne's  room 
caused  him  to  leap  to  his  feet  and  stand  staring 
for  a  moment  at  a  shadow  on  the  ground  glass.  The 
door  led  into  Roger  Craighill's  room,  and  as  he  had 
been  thinking  of  his  father,  the  knock  struck  upon 
his  senses  ominously.  He  hesitated  an  instant, 
curbing  an  impulse  to  fly;  then  the  door  opened 
cautiously,  and  Joe  Denny  slipped  in,  seated  him 
self  carelessly  on  a  table  in  the  centre  of  the  room, 
and  nursed  his  knee. 

Consider  Joe  a  moment;  he  is  not  the  humblest 
figure  in  this  chronicle:  a  tall,  lithe  young  fellow, 
unmistakably  Irish-American,  with  a  bang  of  black 
hair  across  his  forehead,  and  a  humorous  light 
in  his  dark  eyes.  His  grin  is  captivating  but  we 
are  conscious  also  of  shrewdness  in  his  face. 
(It  took  sharp  sprinting  to  steal  second  when  Joe 
had  the  ball  in  his  hand!)  He  is  trimly  dressed 
in  ready-made  exaggeration  of  last  year's  style.  His 
red  cravat  is  fastened  with  a  gold  pin  in  the  similitude 
of  crossed  bats  supporting  a  tiny  ball,  symbol  of 
our  later  Olympian  nine.  You  may,  if  you  like, 
look  up  Joe  Denny's  batting  record  for  the  time  he 
pitched  in  the  Pennsylvania  State  League,  and  you 
will  thereby  gauge  the  extent  of  New  York's  loss 
in  having  bought  his  "release"  only  a  week  before 
he  broke  his  wizard's  arm. 


46  THE   LORDS   OF 

Joe,  at  ease  on  the  table,  viewed  Mr.  Wayne 
Craighill  critically,  but  with  respect.  In  his  more 
tranquil  moments  Joe  spoke  a  fairly  reputable 
English  derived  from  the  public  schools  of  his 
native  hills,  but  his  narrative  style  frequently  took 
colour  of  the  idiom  of  the  diamond,  and  under  stress 
of  emotion  he  departed  widely  from  the  instruction 
imparted  by  the  State  of  Pennsylvania  on  the  upper 
waters  of  the  Susquehanna. 

"Say,  the  Colonel's  due  on  the  4:30." 

Wayne  straightened  himself  unconsciously  and 
his  glance  fell  upon  the  desk  on  which  lay  an  accum 
ulation  of  papers  awaiting  his  inspection  and 
signature. 

"Who  said  so?  I  thought  he  wasn't  due  till 
to-morrow." 

"I  was  up  at  the  house  wyhen  Walsh  telephoned 
for  the  machine  to  go  to  the  station.  I  guess  the 
Colonel  wired  Walsh." 

"I'd  like  to  know  why  Walsh  couldn't  have  done 
me  the  honour  to  tell  me,"  said  Wayne  sourly. 

"I  guess  Walsh  don't  know  you're  back.  They 
asked  me  in  the  front  office  a  while  ago  and  I  told 
'em  I  guessed  you  were  up  at  the  Club;  and  then 
I  came  in  here  through  the  Colonel's  room  to  see 
if  you  had  stayed  put." 

Craighill  was  silent  for  a  moment,  then  he  asked: 

"How  long  was  I  gone  this  time,  Joe?" 

He  addressed  young  Denny  without  condescension, 
in  a  tone  of  kindness  that  minimized  the  obvious 
differences  between  them. 


HIGH  DECISION  47 

"It  was  Wednesday  night  you  broke  loose,  and 
this  is  Saturday  all  right." 

"I  must  have  bumped  some  of  the  high  places  — 
my  head  feels  like  it.  How  about  the  newspapers  ?" 

"Nothing  doing!  Walsh  fixed  that  up  all  right. 
You  see  it  was  like  this:  you  made  a  row  on  the 
steps  of  the  Allequippa  Club  when  I  was  trying  to 
steer  you  home.  I'd  been  waiting  on  the  curb 
with  a  machine  till  about  1  A.  M.,  and  some  of 
the  gents  followed  you  out  of  the  Club  and  wanted 
you  to  come  back  and  go  to  bed;  and  when  a  couple 
of  cops  came  along,  properly  not  seeing  anything, 
and  not  letting  on,  you  must  up  and  jump  on  one 
of  'em  and  pound  his  head.  Then  the  other  cop 
broke  into  the  fuss,  and  there  was  a  good  deal 
doing  and  I  got  you  into  the  machine  and  slid  for 
the  Country  Club  and  got  a  chauffeur's  bed  in  the 
garage  and  sat  on  you  till  you  went  to  sleep." 

Wayne  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Was  that  all  I  did?  It  sounds  pretty  tame; 
I  must  be  getting  better  —  or  worse." 

He  drew  a  cigarette  from  his  case  and  struck  a 
match  before  he  remembered  a  rule  that  forbade 
smoking  in  office  hours;  then  he  found  a  cigar 
and  chewed  it  unlighted.  Joe  eyed  the  littered 
desk  reflectively. 

"Say,  you'd  better  brush  that  off  before  the 
Colonel  comes." 

"Put  that  stuff  out  of  sight,"  commanded  Wayne 
and  tossed  him  his  keys.  "See  here,  Joe,  I  started 
Wednesday  night  and  Thursday  night  I  made  a 


48  THE   LORDS   OF 

row  on  the  Club  steps,  and  you  took  me  out  to 
Rosedale  in  the  machine  and  kept  me  there  till 
you  smuggled  me  in  here  this  afternoon.  That's 
all  right  enough,  but  there  was  another  chap  in 
the  row  at  the  Club  —  I  thought  I  was  fighting  the 
whole  force,  and  you  say  there  were  two  policemen 
there.  There  was  another  fellow  besides  the 
policemen." 

"Forget  it!  Forget  it!"  grinned  Denny,  wraving 
his  hand  airily.  'The  bases  were  full  for  a  few 
minutes  and  a  young  gent  came  along  and  took 
our  side  against  the  cops,  see?  The  two  cops  had 
us  going  some  and  this  little  chap  blowing  in  out 
of  a  minor  league  rapped  a  two-bagger  on  the  biggest 
cop's  chin.  'You  Mr.  CraighilPs  chauffeur?'  he 
says  to  me,  sweet  and  gentle-like;  and  between 
us  we  picked  you  up  and  threw  you  into  the  machine 
and  I  cut  for  the  tall,  green  hills.  As  the  coal-oil 
lit  up  and  she  got  in  motion,  I  looked  back,  and 
our  little  friend  that  hit  the  cop  was  a  handin'  the 
cop  his  card." 

Craighill  frowned  fiercely  with  the  effort  of 
memory. 

;'  Who  was  this  man  that  took  my  part  ?  He 
must  have  followed  me  out  of  the  Club." 

"Nit;  he  was  new  talent;  and  listen --he  was 
a  Bible-barker." 

"A  minister?" 

"Sure.  He  wore  his  collar  buttoned  behind  and 
a  three-story  vest.  He  wasn't  as  tall  as  you  or 
me  but  he  was  good  and  husky  and  he  lined  out 


HIGH   DECISION  49 

three  on  the  cop's  mug,  snappy  and  zippy,  like 
a  triple-play  in  a  tied  game." 

"A  priest?     It   wasn't   Father  Ryan?" 

"It  wasn't  the  father;  it  was  new  talent,  I  tell 
you.  The  gent  who  came  up  here  to  see  you  the 
night  you  broke  loose.  He  was  out  looking  for  you 
Thursday  night;  guess  he  heard  you  were  going 
some.  And  after  he  spiked  the  cop  and  we  got 
off  in  the  machine  there  he  stood  bowing  and  tipping 
his  dice  to  the  cops  and  handing  'em  his  card." 

Light    suddenly    dawned    upon    Wayne. 

"Paddock;  O  Lord!"  he  ejaculated. 

A  clock  tinkled  five  on  the  mantel  and  Wayne's 
manner  changed.  He  pointed  to  the  outer  door. 

"You'd  better  clear  out.  Stop  in  the  front 
office  and  tell  Mr.  Walsh  I'm  here,  do  you 
understand  ?" 

"Say,  Mrs.  Blair's  been  lookin'  for  you;  she's 
had  the  'phone  goin'  for  two  days.  She  flew  in 
her  machine  to  Rosedale  to  look  for  you  but  they 
were  on  and  didn't  give  it  away.  You  better  call 
her  up." 

"Yes,  I'll  attend  to  it;    clear  out." 

Already  Colonel  Craighill  had  quietly  entered 
the  adjoining  room  followed  by  an  office  boy  bearing 
a  travelling  bag.  On  his  desk  lay  a  dozen  sheets 
of  paper,  hardly  larger  than  a  playing  card,  and 
these  he  examined  with  the  swift  ease  of  habit. 
They  were  reports,  condensed  to  the  smallest 
compass,  and  expressed  in  bald  dollars  and  tons 
all  the  Craighill  enterprises.  It  was  thus  that 


50  THE   LORDS   OF 

Roger  Craighill,  like  a  great  commander,  viewed 
the  broad  field  of  his  operations  through  the  eyes 
of  others.  Bank  balances;  totals  of  bills  payable 
and  receivable;  so  much  coal  mined  at  one  point; 
so  many  tons  of  coke  ready  for  shipment  at  another; 
the  visible  tonnage  in  the  general  market;  the 
day's  prices  —  these  bare  data  were  communicated 
to  the  chief  daily  at  the  close  of  business,  and  in 
his  frequent  absences  were  sent  to  him  by  wire.  He 
summoned  a  boy. 

"Please  say  to  Mr.  Walsh  that  I'm  ready  to 
see  him." 

Walsh  appeared  instantly:  he  had,  indeed,  been 
awaiting  the  summons,  and  was  prepared  for  it.  A 
definite  routine  attended  every  return  of  the  chief 
to  his  headquarters.  He  invariably  called  Walsh, 
his  chief  of  staff;  and  thereafter  was  ready  to  see 
his  son.  In  every  business  office  the  high  powers 
are  merely  tolerated  by  the  subordinates,  to  whom 
the  senior  partner  or  the  president  is  usually  "the 
boss"  or  "the  old  man."  Roger  Craighill  was 
not  to  be  so  apostrophized  even  behind  his  back: 
he  was  "the  Colonel"  to  every  one.  To  a  few 
contemporaries  only  was  Craighill  "Roger"  and 
these  were  citizens  bound  together  by  memories 
of  the  old  city,  who  as  young  men  had  cheered 
Kossuth  through  the  streets  in  1851,  and  who  a 
decade  later  had  met  in  the  Committee  of  Safety 
or  marched  South  with  musket  or  sword  in  hand. 

"Ah,  Walsh,  how  is  everything  going?  I  see 
that  the  pumps  at  No.  18  are  out  of  order  again.  I 


HIGH   DECISION  51 

think  I'd  better  go  after  the  Watkins  people  per 
sonally  about  that;  we've  been  patient  enough 
with  them." 

Walsh  nodded.  He  was  short  and  thick  and 
quite  bald.  He  had  formerly  been  the  "credit 
man"  of  one  of  the  Craighill  enterprises,  which,  it 
happened,  was  a  wholesale  grocery;  but  he  had 
grown  into  the  confidence  of  Roger  Craighill  and 
when  Craighill  organized  the  grocery  business  into 
a  corporation  and  began  directing  it  from  the  four 
teenth  story  of  the  Craighill  building,  Walsh  became 
CraighilPs  confidential  man  of  affairs,  with  broad 
administrative  powers. 

Walsh  thrust  his  hands  into  the  pockets  of  his 
office  coat  and  began  talking  at  once  of  several 
matters  of  importance  connected  with  the  Craighill 
interests.  Craighill  nodded  oftener  than  he  spoke 
as  Walsh  made  his  succinct  statements.  There 
was  no  sentiment  in  Walsh;  his  voice  was  as  dry 
and  hard  as  his  facts.  He  had  studied  credits 
so  long  that  his  life's  chief  concern  was  solvency. 
He  could  tell  you  any  day  in  the  week  the  amount 
of  bituminous  coal  in  the  bins  at  Cincinnati  or 
Louisville;  or  whether  the  corner  grocers  of  Johns 
town  or  Youngstown  had  paid  for  their  last  pur 
chases  from  the  Wayne- Craighill  Company.  Craig- 
hill's  inquiries  were  largely  perfunctory,  a  fact  not 
lost  upon  Walsh,  who  fidgeted  in  his  chair. 

"Everything  seems  all  right,"  said  Craighill, 
turning  round  and  facing  Walsh.  "By  the  way, 
did  the  home  papers  report  my  address  before  the 


52  THE   LORDS   OF 

Western  Reserve  Society?  Here's  a  very  fair 
account  of  it  from  the  Cleveland  papers.  I'd  be 
glad  if  you'd  look  it  over.  I'm  often  troubled, 
Walsh,  by  the  amount  of  time  these  public  and 
semi-public  matters  take,  but  in  one  way  and  another 
I  am  well  repaid.  They  inject  a  certain  variety 
into  my  life,  and  the  acquaintances  and  friendships 
I  have  made  among  statesmen,  educators,  financiers 
and  men  of  affairs  are  really  of  great  value  to  me." 

"Urn." 

Walsh  twirled  the  clipping  in  his  fingers.  The 
discussion  of  anything  outside  the  range  of  business 
embarrassed  him.  It  was  perfectly  proper  for 
Roger  Craighill  to  spend  his  time  with  other  gentle 
men  of  wealth  and  influence  in  making  after-dinner 
speeches  and  in  seeking  ways  and  means  of  ameli 
orating  the  condition  of  the  poor  whites  or  the 
poor  blacks  of  the  South,  or  in  stimulating  interest 
in  the  merit  system,  or  in  reforming  the  currency. 
Walsh  thought  favourably  of  these  things,  though 
he  did  not  think  of  them  deeply  or  often. 

"Ah,   Wayne!" 

The  moment  had  arrived  for  the  son  to  show 
himself  and  Wayne  Craighill  entered  from  his  own 
room  and  walked  quickly  to  his  father's  desk. 
Walsh  rose  and  examined  the  young  man  critically 
with  his  small,  shrewd  eyes,  then  left  with  an  abrupt 
good  night.  Father  and  son  greeted  each  other 
cordially;  the  father  held  the  young  man's  hand 
a  moment  as  they  stood  by  the  desk. 

"Wayne,  my  boy!"  said  the  elder  warmly,  "sit 


HIGH   DECISION  53 

down.     How's  Fanny  ?     She  came  home  from  York 
Harbour    rather    early    this    year." 

"Oh,  she's  all  right,"  replied  Wayne,  though 
he  had  not  seen  his  sister  during  his  father's  absence. 
He  assumed  that  the  fact  of  his  latest  escapade 
was  known  to  his  father.  Everyone  always  seemed 
to  know,  though  for  several  years  Roger  Craighill 
had  suspended  the  rebukes,  threats  and  expostu 
lations  with  which  he  had  met  Wayne's  earlier 
lapses.  His  father's  cordiality  put  Wayne  on  guard 
at  once:  he  suspected  that  he  was  to  be  taken  to 
task  for  his  sins  with  a  severity  that  had  drawn 
interest  during  his  immunity. 

"I  am  sorry  to  see  that  you  have  overdrawn 
your  account  somewhat,"  remarked  Colonel  Craig- 
hill,  holding  up  one  of  the  papers  and  examining 
it  through  his  eye-glasses.  His  manner  was  now 
that  of  a  teacher  who  has  summoned  an  erring 
student  for  reproof.  The  mildness  of  his  manner 
irritated  Wayne,  who  was,  moreover,  honestly 
surprised  by  his  father's  statement. 

"I  didn't  know  that;  in  fact  I  don't  believe  that 
can  be  right,  sir.  What's  the  amount  ?" 

"Four  thousand  dollars." 

Wayne's  surprise  increased. 

" It's  an  error.  I  have  overdrawn  no  such  amount; 
I'm  sure  of  that."  But  his  head  still  ached  and 
he  sought  vainly  for  an  explanation  of  the  item 
on  the  sheet  his  father  passed  over  to  him. 

"Wayne,"  began  Colonel  Craighill,  "I  simply 
cannot  have  you  do  this  sort  of  thing.  It's  bad 


54  THE   LORDS   OF 

for  you,  for  you  can  have  no  need  of  any  such  sum 
of  money  in  addition  to  your  regular  income  and 
your  salary;  and  it's  bad  for  the  office  discipline.  I 
have  prided  myself  that  some  of  the  foremost  men 
of  the  country  have  placed  their  sons  in  my  care. 
Think  of  the  effect  on  these  young  men  out  there," 
—  he  waved  his  hand  toward  the  outer  offices  — 
"of  your  extravagant,  wasteful  ways." 

Wayne  was  familiar  enough  with  the  black 
depths  of  his  infamy  and  he  knew  his  value  as  an 
example;  but  he  groped  blindly  for  an  explanation 
of  the  overdraft.  Suddenly  the  knowledge  flashed 
upon  him  that  it  represented  the  price  of  some 
shares  in  a  coal-mining  company  in  which  his  father 
was  interested.  They  had  been  offered  for  sale 
in  the  settlement  of  an  estate  and  as  he  supposed 
that  the  Craighill  interests  already  controlled  the 
property  he  had  purchased  them  on  his  own  account 
a  few  days  before,  with  a  view  to  turning  them  over 
to  his  father  on  his  return  if  he  wished  them.  The 
amount  was  small  as  such  transactions  go,  and 
as  he  had  not  the  required  sum  in  bank  he 
overdrew  his  account  in  the  office.  His  own 
income  from  various  sources  —  real  estate,  bonds 
and  shares  representing  his  half  of  the  considerable 
fortune  left  by  Mrs.  Craighill  —  was  collected 
through  the  office,  where  he  kept  an  open  account. 
His  father's  readiness  to  pillory  him  increased  the 
irritability  left  by  his  latest  dissipation.  A  four- 
year-old  child  will  not  brook  injustice;  there  is 
nothing  a  man  resents  more.  He  could  very  quickly 


HIGH   DECISION  55 

turn  his  father's  criticism  by  an  explanation;  but 
just  now  in  his  bitterness  he  shrank  from  com 
mendation.  The  gravamen  of  his  offense  was 
trifling;  he  had  been  misjudged;  his  pride  had 
been  touched;  he  refused  to  justify  himself. 

He  returned  to  his  own  room  where  a  little  later 
Walsh  found  him.  Walsh,  having  tapped  on  the 
outer  door,  wras  admitted  in  sulky  silence  and 
squeezed  his  fat  bulk  into  a  chair  by  Wayne's 
desk.  He  gazed  at  the  son  of  his  chief  with  what, 
for  Walsh,  approximated  benevolence. 

"I've  been  drunk,"  remarked  Wayne,  with  an 
air  of  suggesting  an  inevitable  topic  of  conversation. 

"Um,"  growled  Walsh.  "I  had  heard  something 
of  it." 

"I  suppose  everybody  has  heard  it.  My  sprees 
seem  to  lack  a  decent  cloistral  quiet  some  way. 
Joe  told  me  you  had  shut  up  the  newspapers.  When 
my  head  stops  aching  I'll  try  to  thank  you  in  proper 
language." 

"I'll  tell  you  how  you  can  avoid  getting  drunk 
in  the  future  if  you  are  interested,"  remarked 
Walsh. 

"If  you  mean  burning  down  the  distilleries  I'd 
like  you  to  know  that  I'm  not  in  a  mood  for  joking." 

"Um.  I  was  not  going  to  advise  you  to  commit 
arson.  I  have  never  offered  you  any  advice  before; 
I'm  going  to  give  you  some  now.  You've  got 
about  all  there  is  out  of  drink  and  you'd  better  get 
interested  in  something  else.  The  only  way  to 
stop  is  to  quit,  and  you  can  do  it.  I've  a  notion 


56  THE   LORDS   OF 

that  you  and  I  are  going  to  be  better  acquainted 
in  the  future.  Such  being  the  idea  I'd  like  to  be 
sure  that  you  are  going  to  keep  straight.  You 
make  me  tired." 

Wayne  was  not  sure  that  he  understood.  No 
one,  least  of  all  his  father's  grim,  silent  lieutenant, 
had  ever  spoken  to  him  in  just  this  tone,  and  he 
was  surprised  to  find  that  Walsh's  method  of  attack 
interested  him.  He  was  humble  before  the  old 
fellow  in  the  linen  coat. 

"What's  the  use,  Tom?  I'm  well  headed  for 
the  bottom;  better  let  me  go  on  down." 

"The  top  is  less  crowded  and  more  comfortable 
than  the  bottom.  Just  as  a  matter  of  my  own 
dignity  I'd  stay  up  as  high  as  I  could  if  I  were 
you.  I  had  a  good  chance  to  go  down  myself 
once,  but  I  took  a  dip  or  two  and  it  didn't  look 
good  down  below  —  too  many  bones.  Um.  That's 
all  of  that." 

He  chewed  an  unlighted  cigar  ruminantly  until 
Wayne  spoke. 

'The  Colonel's  going  to  get  married." 

"Um,"  Walsh  nodded.  His  emotions  were  always 
under  control  and  Wayne  did  not  know  whether 
he  had  imparted  fresh  information  or  not.  He 
imagined  he  had,  for  it  was  not  likely  that  his  father 
would  make  a  confidant  of  Walsh  in  any  social 
matter. 

'The  Colonel  knows  his  own  business." 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,  does  he?" 

"Um." 


HIGH  DECISION  57 

Walsh's  cigar  pointed  to  a  remote  corner  of  the 
ceiling,  but  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  Wayne.  He 
had  apparently  no  intention  of  discussing  Colonel 
Craighill's  marriage  and  he  abruptly  changed  the 
subject. 

"You  bought  fifty  shares  of  Sand  Creek  stock 
the  other  day  from  the  Moore  estate." 

Wayne  scowled;  these  were  the  shares  he  had 
overdrawn  his  office  account  to  buy,  with  the  inten 
tion  of  turning  them  over  to  his  father,  and  his 
father's  criticism  of  the  overdraft  rankled  afresh. 

;'Yes;  I  bought  fifty  shares.  How  did  you  find 
it  out?" 

"Tried  to  buy  'em  myself  and  found  you  had 
beat  me  to  'em." 

"I  overdrew  my  office  account  to  buy  them.  I 
thought  father  would  want  them;  but  now  he 
can't  have  them." 

"Why?" 

"Because  in  a  fit  of  righteousness  he  jumped 
me  for  my  overdraft.  It  was  the  first  time  I  was 
ever  over;  you  know  that,  and  it  would  have  squared 
itself  in  a  few  days  anyhow.  But  if  you  want  those 
shares  - 

"I  don't  want  'em.  The  Colonel  wants  'em. 
He  told  me  to  get  'em  but  I  didn't  know  there  was 
any  great  rush  about  it.  The  Colonel's  friends 
in  New  York,  that  he  got  into  the  Sand  Creek  Com 
pany,  asked  him  to  pick  up  those  shares;  their 
control  is  by  a  narrow  margin,  and  they  wanted 
to  fortify  themselves.  They'd  looked  to  the  Colonel 


58     THE   LORDS   OF  HIGH  DECISION 

to  take  care  of  this  little  bunch.  Does  he  know 
you've  got  'em?" 

"Oh,  no;  not  on  your  life!  After  jumping  me 
for  buying  them?  My  dear  Tom  Walsh,  there  are 
moments  when  the  worm  will  turn!" 

This  was  the  first  occasion  on  which  Wayne  had 
ever  spoken  of  his  father  to  Walsh  except  in  terms 
of  respect,  and  Walsh  was  perfectly  aware  of  it. 

"  If  I  were  you  I'd  turn  those  shares  over  to  the 
Colonel." 

"If  it's  anything  to  you  —  if  you're  going  to  be 
criticized  for  failing  to  get  them,  I'll  give  them  to 
him  —  or  I'll  sell  them  to  you." 

"No,  you  don't  have  to  worry  about  me,  my  boy; 
I  can  take  care  of  myself,  but  I  don't  want  you  to 
feel  that  way  toward  your  father.  It  ain't  healthy; 
it  ain't  right." 

"Please  don't  do  that,  Tom.  My  head  aches, 
and  you're  too  good  a  fellow  to  preach.  I  didn't 
know  those  shares  were  so  valuable;  it  was  just 
a  piece  of  fool  luck  that  I  got  them.  I  suppose 
they  thought  letting  me  have  them  was  the  same 
as  passing  them  over  to  father." 

"That's  the  way  it  ought  to  be." 

"But,  dear  old  Tom,"  and  he  laid  his  hand  on 
Walsh's  thick  knee,  "dear  old  Tom,  it  isn't,  it 
isn't,  it  ain't!" 


CHAPTER  V 

A    CHILD    OF   THE    IRON    CITY 

WAYNE  and  his  father  met  the  next  morning 
at  breakfast,  a  function  at  which,  when 
Wayne  appeared,  the  senior  Craighill  discussed 
the  day's  news  in  his  large  way  as  a  student  of 
affairs.  This  morning  he  had  brought  the  news 
papers  to  the  table  and  they  were  piled  by  his  plate. 

"I  sent  out  notice  of  my  engagement  to  all  the 
papers  last  night.  I  suppose  it  was  to  be  expected 
that  they  would  treat  the  matter  sensationally.  They 
have  spared  nothing." 

Colonel  Craighill  deplored  the  pernicious  ten 
dencies  of  the  American  press  generally  and  of  the 
local  newspapers  particularly.  They  made  light 
work  of  reputations,  he  declared;  they  were  bitterly 
partisan  in  politics;  and  Colonel  Craighill  believed 
thoroughly  that  in  an  independent  and  courageous 
press  lay  the  hope  of  the  Republic.  He  pushed 
the  papers  toward  his  son  with  the  tips  of  his  fingers. 

"They  insisted  on  my  portrait  and  had  to  have 
Miss  Allen's  also.  If  I  had  refused  they  would 
probably  have  substituted  something  even  worse 
than  you  see  there.  A  picture  like  that  is  bound 
to  awaken  prejudice.  It's  an  outrage  on  public 
decency!"  he  ended  indignantly. 

59 


60  THE   LORDS   OF 

Wayne  eyed  the  papers  critically.  There  was  no 
lack  of  respect  in  the  text  which  was  spread  across 
two  columns  at  the  top  of  the  page  beneath  the 
joined  portraits;  he  even  caught  the  flavour  of  some 
of  his  father's  own  phrases,  though  they  were  not 
directly  quoted,  and  as  for  the  illustrations,  they 
were  not  better  or  worse  than  the  average  news 
paper  pictures.  One  journal  presented  a  sketch 
of  the  Craighill  family,  with  generous  reference  to 
Wayne's  mother  and  her  high  place  among  the 
women  who  had  contributed  to  the  city's  better  life. 
Miss  Allen  was  a  woman  of  unusual  charm,  of 
an  old  New  England  family,  who  had  lived  much 
abroad,  and  her  coming  would  be  an  event  of  inter 
est  and  importance  in  the  Greater  City.  Mrs. 
Blair  and  Wayne  were  mentioned  in  all  these  recitals 
to  complete  the  family  history. 

:<You  get  off  easy,"  remarked  Wayne,  care 
lessly,  scanning  the  column  of  condensed  news. 

"The  Star  has  an  editorial  on  some  of  the  points 
I  made  in  my  Cleveland  speech.  I  suppose  Bixby 
had  that  done.  Bixby's  a  good  enough  fellow, 
but  why  he  should  own  a  newspaper  as  vile  as  the 
Star  I  don't  know." 

"I  guess  men  don't  own  newspapers  for  fun," 
remarked  Wayne.  "Bixby  bought  the  Star  to  use 
as  a  club  in  his  other  businesses.  It  would  help  us 
if  we  had  a  sheet  to  fight  back  with." 

"I  had  a  chance  to  buy  the  Star  when  Bixby  took 
it,  but  I  had  too  many  cares  already." 

''Well,  you  might  have  made  a  decent  paper  of  it. 


HIGH  DECISION  61 

That's  what  you've  always  said  we  need  in  this 
town;  but  nobody  wants  to  sink  money  in  a  daily 
Sunday-school  organ." 

"If  I  had  my  life  to  live  over  again  I  should  go 
into  journalism;  its  opportunities  for  public  ser 
vice  are  limitless  and  I  don't  believe  the  people  really 
want  these  indecent  things  that  are  thrown  on 
our  doorsteps  to-day." 

The  decline  of  the  American  press  was  a  familiar 
topic  of  conversation  at  the  Craighill  breakfast 
table,  but  to-day  it  served  to  divert  attention  from 
the  great  issue  of  the  hour.  When  Wayne  had  fin 
ished  with  the  papers  he  told  the  maid  to  take  them 
away  and  addressed  himself  to  the  simple  breakfast. 

"They  talk  of  running  John  for  mayor,"  remarked 
Colonel  Craighill,  "and  I  hope  he'll  consent  to  be  the 
Municipal  League's  candidate.  He'd  have  the 
support  of  the  best  element  beyond  a  doubt." 

"Beyond  a  doubt,"  Wayne  repeated,  not  par 
ticularly  interested  in  his  brother-in-law's  political 
ambitions;  "but  that  wouldn't  elect  him.  We've 
had  reform  candidates  before  who  were  just  as 
good  as  John.  They  start  all  right,  but  they  don't 
finish." 

"All  we  can  do  in  such  matters  is  to  keep  up  the 
fight.  The  powers  of  evil  can't  prevail  forever." 

"No;  but  they  work  with  the  boys  in  the  trenches 
while  the  rest  of  us  abuse  them  over  expensive 
dinners.  There's  a  practical  difference.  This 
town's  all  right.  If  we'd  stop  abusing  it  and  sup 
press  the  muck-rakers  we  might  get  somewhere." 


62  THE   LORDS   OF 

"I'm  glad  Fanny  takes  my  marriage  in  good 
part,"  remarked  Colonel  Craighill,  to  whom  Wayne's 
political  views  were  not  important.  Wayne  answered 
cheerfully  for  his  sister's  acceptance  of  the  new 
situation  in  family  affairs. 

"Oh,  Fanny's  all  right!  You  can  always  be 
sure  she'll  rise  to  an  occasion." 

"Fanny  is  a  fine  woman,"  declared  Colonel 
Craighill. 

"She  is  all  of  that,"  replied  Wayne. 

"I  used  to  fear,  in  her  young  girlhood,  that  she 
was  a  trifle  flighty;  but  marriage  settled  her  won 
derfully." 

"There's  a  prevailing  impression  that  it  will  do 
that,"  retorted  Wayne. 

"What  a  happy  future  would  be  yours,  my  son, 
if  you  would  take  life  a  little  more  seriously,"  sighed 
Colonel  Craighill.  "I've  spoken  of  you  very  little 
to  Adelaide;  but  you  must  consider  her  hereafter. 
I  hope  that  her  coming  may  mark  a  new  era  for 
you.  I  cannot  but  think  that  her  influence  will 
be  for  good  in  the  family." 

"I  dare  say  it  will,"  assented  Wayne.  "You 
need  have  no  fears  about  Fanny  and  me  and  our 
treatment  of  your  wife.  You  know  —  about  my 
habits  and  all  that  —  I  think  I'm  ready  to  quit. 
I've  decided  that  there's  nothing  in  drink,  and  I've 
given  it  up." 

"God  grant  that  it  may  be  so!" 

Colonel  Craighill  spoke  with  deep  emotion. 
Wayne  had,  in  the  old  times  when  his  father  used  to 


HIGH  DECISION  63 

pray  over  him,  often  promised  under  pressure: 
this  morning  he  had  voluntarily  announced  his 
intention  to  reform.  It  was  in  Colonel  Craighill's 
mind  at  once  that  already  good  was  coming  of  the 
marriage;  that  Wayne's  pride  was  aroused;  that 
he  wished  thus  to  mark  the  coming  of  the  new  wife. 
Wayne  was  pouring  himself  a  third  cup  of  coffee, 
and  this  unusual  indulgence  he  associated  with 
some  method  which  his  son  had  adopted  for  break 
ing  down  the  baser  appetite. 

"I  have  given  up  drink,"  repeated  Wayne,  helping 
himself  to  sugar;  "there's  nothing  in  it";  and  while 
his  words  and  tone  were  not  quite  what  Roger 
Craighill  would  have  liked,  he  could  not  quibble 
over  phrases  or  question  the  sincerity  of  this  volun 
tary  declaration.  He  had  long  ago  ceased  trying 
to  understand  Wayne's  moods;  his  son's  state  of 
mind  this  morning  was  unusually  baffling. 

"That  you  should  be  an  honourable  man  has 
been  the  great  prayer  of  my  life,  Wayne,"  he  said, 
with  feeling. 

"I'm  afraid  you've  been  praying  in  the  wrong 
place.  If  God  never  helped  me,  maybe  the  devil 
will;  he  knows  me  better!"  Wayne  dropped  his 
spoon  into  his  saucer  and  laughed.  "That's  almost 
blasphemy,  isn't  it?  The  car's  at  the  door  and 
whenever  you're  ready " 

They  rode  into  town  together,  each  in  his  own 
corner  of  the  tonneau  as  was  the  morning  habit,  and 
Colonel  Craighill  spoke  only  once  or  twice.  In  the 
lobby  of  the  building  that  bore  his  name  the  day's 


64  THE   LORDS   OF 

sensation  was  already  in  the  air.  One  or  two  friends, 
tenants  of  his  building,  greeted  Colonel  Craighill  cor 
dially  as  the  elevator  shot  them  skyward  and  con 
gratulated  him  with  warmth;  and  every  clerk  in 
the  Craighill  offices,  where  the  announcement  had 
already  been  freely  discussed,  watched  father  and 
son  pass  on  to  their  own  rooms  with  a  newly 
awakened  curiosity. 

"Oh,  Wayne,"  said  Colonel  Craighill,  as  they 
separated,  "I  should  like  you  to  lunch  with  me 
at  the  Club  to-day  —  the  Allequippa  —  about  one. 
We'll  walk  over  together." 

WTayne  pondered  this  when  he  had  settled  him 
self  at  his  own  desk.  In  normal  circumstances  he 
saw  little  of  his  father  during  the  day.  Colonel 
Craighill  usually  took  luncheon  with  half  a  dozen 
men  of  his  own  age  who  represented  the  solid  interests 
of  Pittsburg.  He  prided  himself  on  his  knowledge 
of  the  general  business  conditions;  he  liked,  as  he 
put  it,  to  keep  in  touch  with  the  life  of  the  city, 
and  he  so  managed  his  hour  and  a  half  at  the  Alle 
quippa  as  to  gain  information  from  authoritative 
sources  on  all  manner  of  subjects.  He  was  more  or 
less  conscious  of  the  fact  that  he  touched  life  on 
more  sides  than  the  majority  of  his  fellows.  They 
talked  of  iron  and  coal  because  they  were,  like  him 
self,  interested  in  forges  and  mines;  but  he  could 
discuss  cotton  with  knowledge  of  the  conditions  in 
India,  or  wheat,  with  the  Argentine  forecast  in  his 
mind.  He  subscribed  for  English  reviews  which  he 
occasionally  passed  on  to  business  friends  whose 


HIGH   DECISION  65 

narrower  horizons  were  otherwise  amply  illuminated 
by  the  newspapers. 

The  Allequippa  Club,  at  the  luncheon  hour, 
became  a  seething  board  of  trade  whose  unrecorded 
transactions  ran  to  large  figures.  Stock  subscrip 
tion  papers  were  handed  from  table  to  table  as  care 
lessly  as  the  wine  card.  Through  these  years  of  the 
Great  Prosperity  it  was  as  easy  to  count  millions 
as  to  count  heads.  In  fact,  Mr.  Richard  Wingfield, 
watching  and  listening  in  his  corner,  announced  that 
a  million  had  become  a  contemptible  sum  that 
hardly  assured  one's  daily  bread. 

Wayne  Craighill  was,  in  the  fullest  sense,  a  child 
of  the  city.  Its  oldest  blood  was  in  his  veins.  His 
mother  had  been  a  Wayne,  the  daughter  of  a  mer 
chant  whose  great-grandfather  had  fought  in  the 
Continental  army,  and  whose  grandfather  had  shared 
Perry's  glory  on  Lake  Erie.  The  Craighills  were 
not  so  old  on  this  soil,  but  the  name  was  not  a  negli 
gible  one  in  local  history.  Wayne's  grandfather 
Craighill  had  sat  in  the  State  Legislature  and  in 
Congress,  and  when  Roger  Craighill  married  the  only 
daughter  of  the  house  of  Wayne  and  the  last  of  the 
family,  the  best  blood  of  the  State  was  united.  The 
Craighill  building,  rising  tower-like  in  the  steep, 
narrow  street  of  this  many-towered  Babel,  spoke 
not  merely  for  present  affluence,  but  for  the  pres 
cience  that  had  secured  and  held  the  iron  hills  sur 
rounding. 

Eastern  Pennsylvania  is  better  known  in  song, 
story  and  history  than  the  state's  western  hills,  but 


66  THE   LORDS   OF 

the  Greater  City,  big,  brawny,  powerful,  sprawled 
over  valley  and  hill  where  the  broad  rivers  gather 
new  courage  for  their  adventure  seaward,  hides  in 
its  iron  heart  many  and  sonorous  Iliads.  It  may 
fairly  be  said  that  Pennsylvania  is  our  most  typical 
state  and  Pittsburg  our  most  typical  city,  for  here  the 
weakness  and  strength  of  the  democracy  wage  daily 
war.  Here  political  corruption  has  been  venom 
ously  manifested.  Those  who  seek  to  account  tor 
the  unaccountable  ask  whether  the  old  Scotch  clan- 
instinct  has  not  reasserted  itself  in  the  politics  of 
the  state.  The  question  is  suggestive;  but  it  may 
not  be  discussed  in  these  pages.  The  spirit  of  Democ 
racy,  brooding  upon  the  hills,  and  looking  down 
upon  the  City  of  the  Iron  Heart,  must  smile  often, 
wondering  that  a  people  so  highly  favoured  and 
with  antecedents  so  honourable,  tamely  submit  to 
plunder  and  bend  their  necks  so  meekly  to  the 
spoilsman.  But  a  new  era  was  even  now  at  hand. 
"There  shall  be  an  highway  for  the  remnant  of  his 
people,"  declared  Isaiah,  prophet  of  the  day  of 
kings,  but  a  higher  light  was  already  stealing  into 
the  Iron  City.  The  "remnant"  was  proving  its  own 
quality  by  searching  out  the  squalor  of  its  back 
doors  and  "runs"  where  wan  spectres  of  Decadence 
elbowed  ill-begotten,  helpless,  staring-eyed  Defec 
tives  and  Dependents. 

It  may  be  said  that  at  Pittsburg  the  East  ends 
and  the  West  begins.  The  division  is  in  nothing 
more  pronounced  than  in  the  speech  of  the  native. 
In  the  noonday  throng  of  the  Allequippa  Club  it 


HIGH  DECISION  67 

puzzles  the  stranger.  It  is  not  the  lazy  drawl  that 
crept  into  the  Central  West  from  the  Southeast  with 
the  early  migration,  and  that  is  still  discernible 
wherever  the  old  stock  has  held  its  own,  but  a  hybrid 
wrought  of  Scotch-Irish  and  Pennsylvania  Dutch 
influences.  It  is  less  interesting  for  elisions  and  the 
flattening  of  vowels  than  for  its  cadences.  In  famil 
iar  dialogue  these  are  marked  and  weave  a  spell 
upon  the  unfamiliar  ear.  They  are  not  peculiar 
to  the  man  in  the  street,  but  flavour  in  the  polite 
babble  of  drawing  rooms.  They  lure  the  ear 
of  strangers,  and  newcomers  unconsciously  adopt 
them.  The  operators  at  the  telephone  exchange 
teach  the  most  common  and  the  most  readily  com 
municable  of  these  cadences  daily.  In  repeating  a 
number  of  four  figures  the  voice  invariably  rises  on 
the  next  to  the  last  syllable  to  fall  again  at  the  end. 
The  native  tongue,  long  attuned  to  this  practice,  adds 
a  word  to  short  sentences  so  that  the  intonation  may 
not  fail  to  scan  and  thus  miss  its  effect.  For  example : 
"Did  he  get  it?'*  does  not  quite  lend  itself  to  the 
usage ;  but  if  we  prefix  And:  (And  did  he  get  it  ?)  the 
speaker  satisfies  his  own  ear.  Those  who  are  keen  for 
controversy  in  such  matters  may  gnaw  this  bone  all 
they  like.  Some  will  trace  it  to  Scotch,  others  to  Irish 
influences;  but  from  the  lips  of  the  pretty  girls  of  the 
Greater  City,  whether  behind  shop  counters  or  tea 
tables,  it  is  melodious  and  haunting.  To  some  shrewder 
pen  than  this  must  be  left  a  prediction  as  to  the 
ultimate  fate  of  our  language  at  this  great  Western 
gateway,  where  the  mingling  of  dialects  spoken  under 


68  THE   LORDS   OF 

all  the  flags  of  Europe  is  bound  to  exert  in  time  new 
influences  on  the  common  speech. 

As  Colonel  Craighill  and  his  son  entered  the 
Club  to-day  commerce  seemed  less  insistently  dom 
inant.  Their  names  had  been  on  many  lips;  and 
they  were  at  once  the  centre  of  attraction.  The 
ticker  curled  its  tape  unnoticed  in  the  basket  while 
the  Craighill  marriage  was  discussed.  As  the  two 
checked  their  coats  the  congratulations  began,  and 
in  the  lounging  room  they  were  immediately  the 
centre  of  a  group  of  friends.  Wayne,  it  seemed,  was 
the  object  of  more  attention  than  his  father;  the 
"Colonel,"  as  nearly  everyone  called  him  would 
of  course  beam  in  his  characteristic  way ;  but  Wayne, 
in  his  own  relation  to  the  matter,  was  to  be  viewed  in  a 
fresh  aspect.  There  were  those  among  his  intimates 
who  chaffed  him  about  his  new  stepmother.  She 
would,  they  hinted,  undoubtedly  visit  upon  him 
the  traditional  contumely  of  stepmothership.  Others 
re-appraised  the  Craighill  millions  with  a  view  of 
determining  just  how  much  the  new  wife's  advent 
would  cut  into  the  expectations  of  Mrs.  Blair  and 
Wayne.  Roger  Craighill's  first  wife,  every  one  re 
membered,  had  brought  him  a  considerable  fortune, 
and  many  were  now  trying  to  recall  how  much 
of  this  had  reposed  in  him,  and  how  much  had 
passed  direct  to  the  children. 

Dick  Wingfield,  who  crystalized  in  his  own  person 
the  Greater  City's  aspirations  in  art  and  music, 
declared  as  he  surveyed  the  large  dining  room  and 
contemplated  the  two  Craighills  in  their  unusual 


HIGH   DECISION  69 

intimacy,  that  for  the  hour  Pig  Iron  had  yielded  the 
centre  of  the  stage  to  Cupid.  Many  gentlemen  left 
their  tables,  napkin  in  hand,  to  congratulate  the 
Colonel ;  and  Wayne,  too,  submitted  his  hand  to  many 
grasps,  some  of  them  lingeringly  sympathetic,  others 
expressive  of  a  general  friendliness  and  liking.  The 
Colonel  was  a  shrewd  one,  so  many  remarked;  it 
was  a  real  stroke  to  present  himself  to  the  eye  of  the 
Greater  City  in  company  with  his  son  on  this  mem 
orable  day.  It  was  not  like  Colonel  Craighill  to 
make  a  marriage  that  would  estrange  his  children; 
the  outward  and  visible  acceptance  by  them  of  the 
impending  union  was  indubitably  presented  in  the 
corner  where  father  and  son  ate  their  luncheon  to 
gether.  When  there  came  a  lull  in  the  visits  to  the 
Craighill  table  Wingfield  lounged  thither,  and  drew 
up  his  chair  for  a  chat  with  Wayne.  Not  being  a 
hypocrite,  Wingfield  shook  hands  with  the  Colonel 
but  did  not  refer  to  the  topic  of  the  hour.  He 
addressed  himself  to  Wayne  on  the  prospects  of  the 
Greater  City's  orchestra  for  the  winter  and  called 
his  attention  to  some  new  pictures  at  the  Art  Institute. 
He  mentioned  the  presence  in  America  of  a  great 
French  portrait  painter  with  whose  work  Mr.  Craig- 
hill  was  familiar. 

"You  should  certainly  have  him  paint  you, 
Colonel.  This  is  the  best  place  in  the  world  for  the 
assembling  of  works  of  art;  the  grime  soon  makes 
old  masters  of  them  all.  The  orchestra  trustees 
meet  at  three  this  afternoon  in  the  board  room  of 
the  Fine  Arts  building.  Your  check  was  generous, 


70  THE   LORDS   OF 

Colonel;  but  Wayne  will  have  to  work.  Don't  for 
get  the  meeting,  Wayne.  We  count  on  him,  Colonel 
Craighill.  By  the  way,  Wayne,  an  old  friend  of  ours 
has  turned  up  here  —  Paddock  of  agile  legs  and 
stammering  tongue.  What  profits  it,  may  I  ask, 
for  any  man  to  lay  up  store  of  wealth  for  his  children 
when  they're  likely  to  scorn  the  fleshpots  for  locusts 
and  wild  honey  ?  One  might  expect  Paddock  to 
come  here  to  study  the  iron  business,  but  bless  me! 
he's  come  to  save  our  souls." 

"Yes;  I've  seen  Jimmy." 

"I  thought  you  hadn't  seen  him,"  remarked 
Colonel  Craighill  in  surprise. 

"Oh,  yes;  I  ran  into  him  the  other  night  by 
chance,"  replied  Wayne,  "just  after  we  had  been 
talking  about  him.  He's  the  same  chap.  Our 
meeting  wasn't  very  fortunate  —  in  fact,  we  didn't 
seem  to  hit  it  off." 

"He  always  was  modest  about  himself,  you 
remember,"  said  Wingfield.  "I  wanted  to  give 
him  a  dinner  at  the  Club  to  interest  people  in  his 
missionary  schemes,  but  he  wouldn't  have  it." 

"He's  doing  a  noble  work,  I  hear,"  said  Colonel 
Craighill.  "  It's  unfortunate  that  he  won't  accept  help 
from  those  among  us  who  know  the  local  conditions." 

''Well,  it's  a  relief  that  philanthropy  can  enter 
this  town  just  once  without  preluding  itself  with  a 
lot  of  bombast  and  brag,"  sighed  Wingfield.  "I'm 
for  Paddock;  in  fact,  I  have  every  honourable  inten 
tion  of  placing  my  soul  at  his  disposal.  It's  only 
decent  to  patronize  new  home  industries." 


HIGH  DECISION  71 

Colonel  Craighill  had  not  known  of  Wayne's 
election  to  the  orchestra  board,  and  as  Wingfield 
left  he  said: 

"That's  the  kind  of  thing  I  like  our  name  to  be 
identified  with  —  the  best  aims  and  endeavours  of 
the  city.  I'm  deeply  gratified  to  know  that  you  are 
interested  in  the  orchestra.  We  older  men  have  our 
hands  full.  It's  for  your  generation  to  build  upon 
our  foundations." 

"They  put  me  on  the  board,  I  guess,  because  I 
used  to  play  the  fiddle!" 

"So  you  did!  That  was  your  dear  mother's  idea 
—  that  you  should  take  violin  lessons.  As  I  remem 
ber,  you  showed  considerable  aptitude." 

"I  believe  I  rather  liked  it." 

And  Wayne  saw  himself  again  in  knickerbockers 
standing  at  his  mother's  side  by  the  piano,  in  the 
half-remembered  days  of  his  happy  childhood.  He 
was  thrown  back  upon  the  mood  of  four  nights 
before,  when  he  had  stood  before  his  mother's 
portrait  and  felt  the  call  of  memory.  There  was 
in  his  heart  a  turbulent  rebellion  against  this  impec 
cable  father,  who  faced  him  as  always,  bland,  poised, 
assured.  Imaginary  wrongs  grew  real;  slight  inju 
ries  and  injustices,  long  forgotten,  cried  fiercely  in 
their  recrudescence  for  vengeance. 

And  conscious  of  its  foulness  he  had  planned  an 
evil  thing.  It  had  crossed  his  mind  like  a  dark 
shadow,  obscuring  the  fair  horizon  of  his  better  nature 
the  moment  he  looked  upon  the  face  of  the  woman 
his  father  was  about  to  marry.  He  had  known  her 


72     THE   LORDS   OF  HIGH   DECISION 

first,  that  was  the  beautiful  irony  of  it;  and  he  was 
keeping  silent  because  in  her,  installed  as  his  father's 
wife,  he  saw  a  means  of  retaliation.  His  hatred  of 
his  father  was  no  growth  of  a  day,  and  the  face 
in  the  locket,  the  letter  from  the  woman  herself  that 
he  had  read  the  night  he  began  his  latest  debauch, 
had  hardened  it  into  a  fixed  idea. 

The  knowledge  that  his  father  had  brought  him 
here  to-day  merely  to  advertise  the  perfect  amity 
of  their  relationship  angered  him;  and  now  Colonel 
Craighill  dismissed  him  urbanely,  saying  that  he 
would  take  his  cigar  with  Eraser,  the  short,  grave, 
round-faced  corporation  lawyer,  who  was  soon,  it 
appeared,  to  accept  the  nation  for  his  client. 

Wingfield,  with  his  eye  on  the  situation,  carried 
Wayne  below  for  a  game  of  billiards. 


CHAPTER  VI 

BEFORE  A  PORTRAIT  BY  SARGENT 

WAYNE  CRAIGHILL'S  education  had  been 
planned  by  his  father  on  broad  lines.  The 
Craighills  had  of  old  been  Presbyterians,  but  Colonel 
Craighill  was  no  bigot ;  therefore,  in  keeping  with  his 
generous  attitude  in  such  matters,  Wayne  was  sent 
to  a  preparatory  school  in  Vermont  conducted  under 
Episcopalian  auspices.  Moreover,  the  head  of  St. 
John's  was  a  personal  friend,  whom  Colonel  Craighill 
knew  well.  Nothing  could  be  better  for  the  boy 
than  a  few  years  spent  under  the  eye  of  the  famous 
master.  The  transition  from  the  Presbyterian  ism 
in  which  he  was  born  to  the  High  Church  school 
was  abrupt.  The  very  vocabulary  of  worship  was 
different;  the  choral  services  in  the  beautiful  chapel 
appealed  to  his  emotional  nature,  and  he  found  a 
quiet  joy  in  his  own  participation  in  the  singing 
when  he  attained  in  due  course  to  a  place  in  the 
orderly  offices  of  the  choir.  From  the  preparatory 
school  Wayne  went  to  the  Institute  of  Technology. 
His  mother  had  pleaded  for  the  law;  but  Colonel 
Craighill  pointed  out  the  superiority  of  scientific 
education  in  a  day  when  science  guarded  so  many 
of  the  approaches  to  success.  And  Wayne,  born 
among  the  iron  hills,  was  persuaded  that  his  best 

73 


74  THE   LORDS   OF 

course  lay  in  fitting  himself  for  a  career  in  keeping 
with  the  greatest  interests  of  his  native  state,  and 
so  his  father  prevailed,  and  Wayne  had,  not  with 
out  much  stress  and  resistance  of  spirit,  taken  his 
degree  in  science.  Certain  aspects  of  mining,  and 
of  the  chemistry  of  the  forge  had  appealed  to  him, 
but  rather  to  his  strong  imagination  than  to  any 
practical  use  he  saw  in  his  knowledge.  He  had 
spent  a  summer  in  a  large  colliery,  obedient  to 
his  father's  wish  that  the  young  man  should  apply 
and  test  theory  before  he  had  a  chance  to  forget 
the  teaching  of  the  schools ;  and  Wayne  had  entered 
into  this  with  relish.  But  while  he  had  taken  into 
his  own  strong  hands  every  tool  used  in  mine  labour, 
and  fed  boiler  furnaces  and  sat  by  the  scales  in  weigh 
houses,  he  had  shared  also  the  social  life  of  the  world 
of  coal.  He  had  spent  his  evenings  in  the  saloons 
of  the  mine  village,  talking  and  drinking  with  the 
miners  in  a  spirit  of  democracy  that  won  their 
affections.  His  violence  when  drunk  had  first  mani 
fested  itself  at  this  period.  He  was  so  big  and 
powerful  that  the  fierce  reinforcement  of  his  natural 
strength  by  drink  made  him  a  terror.  He  had  once 
run  wild  through  the  long  black  lane  of  a  mine, 
driving  an  electric  motor  and  train  of  wallowing 
mine  cars,  captured  after  a  fight  from  their  lawful 
conductors,  smashing  finally  a  line  of  coal  pillars 
with  a  force  that  might  have  shaken  the  huge  cave 
down  upon  him. 

So  far  as  his  own  aptitude  and  taste  were  con 
cerned  his  education  went  for  naught.     The  Homeric, 


HIGH   DECISION  75 

picturesque  side  of  industrial  Pennsylvania  appealed 
to  him.  The  wresting  of  the  enormous  latent  power 
from  the  hills;  the  sky  lighted  by  the  glow  of  mul 
titudinous  ovens  and  furnaces;  the  roar  and  shriek 
of  machinery;  the  grimy  toilers  at  their  moulding 
and  tempering  —  these  and  like  phenomena  touched 
his  imagination,  and  he  cared  little  for  their  practical 
side  while  they  were  so  much  more  captivating  as 
panorama  than  as  trade.  We  need  not  deal  in 
unprofitable  speculations  as  to  what  a  different 
education  might  have  made  of  Wayne  Craighill; 
for  an  intelligent  appreciation  of  books  and  pictures 
and  a  love  of  music  are  too  easily  confused  with 
genius.  Let  it  suffice  that  some  playful  god  had 
injected  into  his  blood  a  drop  of  the  divine  essence, 
enough  merely  to  visit  upon  him  the  fleeting  moods 
of  the  dreamer  and  the  restless  longings  of  those 
who  seek  the  light  that  never  was. 

His  nature  was  compounded  of  many  elements 
of  good  and  evil.  Taste,  delicacy,  fine  feeling,  he 
had  in  abundance;  he  was  sensitive  to  the  appeal 
of  beautiful  things.  In  fits  of  solitude  and  industry 
he  would  read  voraciously;  many  subjects  awakened 
his  curiosity.  But  his  passions  were  strong  and 
deep,  and  they  had  their  way  with  him.  Again, 
his  restraint  and  measure  were  surprising.  Wing- 
field,  who  knew  him  best  of  all,  was  amazed  at 
times  by  the  sobriety  and  wisdom  of  Wayne's 
judgments.  We  have  said  that  he  was  the  child 
of  his  city;  more  than  this,  he  not  unfitly  expressed 
its  genius,  its  confused  aims,  its  weaknesses  and 


76  THE   LORDS   OF 

its  aspirations.  The  iron  of  the  hills  was  in  his 
blood;  and  iron,  let  us  remember,  has  the  merit 
as  well  as  the  defects  of  its  qualities! 

Joe  drove  Wayne  to  the  Modern  Art  Institute 
in  the  machine.  He  went  early  to  have  a  glimpse 
of  several  recent  additions  to  the  collection  before 
the  meeting  of  the  orchestra  committee,  and  later 
he  was  to  go  to  his  sister's. 

The  peace  of  the  quiet  gallery  enfolded  him  grate 
fully.  He  paid  his  respects  to  old  favourites,  saving 
a  half-hour  for  the  new  arrivals.  Dick  Wingfield's 
mother,  convoying  two  girls,  was  among  the  other 
visitors.  He  had  reached  a  point  at  wThich,  half- 
unconsciously,  he  gave  the  women  he  knew  an 
opportunity  to  cut  him  if  they  wished.  The  two 
girls  became  rather  obviously  intent  upon  the  upper 
line  of  canvasses  as  he  passed  them.  They  were 
the  daughters  of  his  father's  neighbours;  they  had 
known  him  all  their  lives,  and  yet  they  deliberately 
turned  their  backs  upon  him.  He  had  paused,  a 
little  resentful,  a  little  ashamed,  in  a  farther 
corner,  when  Mrs.  Wingfield  drew  near  and  spoke 
to  him.  She  had  been  one  of  his  mother's 
intimate  friends  and  she  touched  him  gently  on 
the  arm. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Wayne.  We  very  rarely 
meet  any  more.  I  wish  you  would  come  to 
see  me." 

She  was  so  gentle,  the  meaning  of  her  kindness 
struck  so  deep  that  he  flushed  as  he  took  her  hand. 

"I  have  never  lost  faith  in  you,  Wayne." 


HIGH   DECISION  77 

"Thank  you;  you're  the  only  one,  then,  Mrs. 
Wingfield.  You  and  Dick  are  about  all  I  have 
left." 

:*  Who  is  this  woman  your  father  is  marrying  ?  " 
she  demanded  with  sudden  asperity. 

"A  lady,  of  course.  What  would  you  expect  of 
my  father?" 

"I  would  expect  him  to  be  like  all  the  other  old 
fools,"  she  declared.  "A  woman  like  your  mother, 
Wayne  Craighill,  can  have  no  successor." 

She  still  clasped  his  hand  lightly,  and  he  bent 
over  her  with  deferential  courtesy. 

"I  hope  he  is  marrying  a  good  woman  for  your 
sake  —  and  Fanny's." 

"Father  wouldn't  marry  any  other  kind;  you 
may  be  sure  of  that,"  laughed  Wayne. 

"I  don't  know  anything  of  the  kind.  I  have 
waited  a  good  many  years  to  see  your  father  do 
something  outrageous  and  now  I'm  going  to  be  satis 
fied.  Who  is  this  person,  anyhow?" 

"I  positively  decline  to  hear  my  future  stepmother 
spoken  of  as  a  person!" 

"I  dare  say  the  word  flatters  her.  I'm  telling 
all  your  mother's  old  friends  that  we've  got  to  cut 
the  woman  on  principle." 

"The  town  will  sit  at  her  feet.  You  will  yourself 
call  upon  her  the  day  of  her  arrival." 

"Not  unless  I'm  insane,  Wayne  Craighill!  The 
newspapers  everywhere  are  making  us  out  the 
wickedest  city  in  the  world,  and  between  stock 
gambling  and  poker  and  divorces  and  worse  we're 


78  THE   LORDS   OF 

undoubtedly  going  to  the  bad.  It's  time  for  us 
old  settlers  to  assert  ourselves.  This  woman  your 
father  is  going  to  marry  may  be  perfectly  respectable, 
but  I  decline  to  know  her." 

With  this  declaration  Mrs.  Wingfield  rejoined  her 
charges  who  hovered  discreetly  in  a  far  corner  in 
the  belief  that  she  was  lecturing  Wayne  Craighill 
upon  his  sins.  Wayne  had  been  touched  by  her 
kindness  in  speaking  to  him  when  other  women 
in  her  own  circle  were  cutting  him ;  and  the  encounter 
left  him  brooding  upon  his  father's  marriage. 

He  wondered  whether  his  mother's  friends  would 
really  show  any  resentment  at  the  coming  of  his 
father's  new  wife.  He  had  watched  such  cases 
before  and  was  skeptical.  His  father  was  a  man 
of  far-reaching  business  interests,  and  wThile  there 
were  women  like  Mrs.  Wingfield  who  were  cour 
ageous  enough  themselves  to  support  a  sentiment, 
their  husbands  would  counsel  caution  and  advise 
against  incurring  the  ill-will  of  a  man  of  Colonel 
Craighill's  wealth  and  influence.  He  had  the  gal 
lery  to  himself  for  a  few  minutes  and  sat  down 
before  one  of  the  more  important  new  portraits 
that  he  had  particularly  wished  to  see.  He  could 
not  fix  his  mind  upon  it,  but  sat  staring  at  the  canvas. 

A  young  woman  had  entered  the  hall  and  was 
moving  slowly  along  the  line  studying  the  pictures 
with  the  greatest  intentness.  She  was  without  hat 
or  coat  and  carried  in  her  hand  a  tablet  and  pencil. 
She  quite  obscured  now  the  portrait  at  which  he 
had  been  staring  vacantly;  it  seemed,  for  an  instant, 


HIGH   DECISION  79 

before  his  eyes  accommodated  themselves  to  the 
intrusion  of  her  interposed  figure,  that  she  had 
slipped  into  the  canvas  itself.  The  lady  of  the 
portrait,  in  her  sumptuous  evening  toilet,  was  not, 
however,  long  to  be  confused  with  this  girl  in  her 
plain  cloth  skirt  and  simple  shirt-waist.  She  was 
studying  the  portrait  critically,  her  head  tilting  now 
to  one  side,  now  to  another,  as  she  surveyed  the 
great  artist's  work.  Her  movements  were  swift 
and  eager,  and  she  made,  he  thought,  an  obeisance 
of  reverence  before  the  lady's  portrait;  but  she 
remained  crouched  upon  one  knee  and  upon  the 
other  held  her  tablet  and  sketched  rapidly  with 
her  pencil.  He  had  at  first  thought  her  an  attachee 
of  the  gallery,  but  now  he  surmised  that  she  was 
a  student  of  the  art  school,  rendering  homage  before 
a  picture  whose  charm  and  technical  perfection 
commanded  her  admiration.  It  was  a  worthy 
object  for  any  one's  homage,  Wayne  knew,  as  he 
surveyed  it  over  the  girl's  dark  head.  He  sat  very 
quiet,  fearing  that  he  might  disturb  her,  glancing 
from  the  richly  clad  lady  in  the  frame  to  her  kneel 
ing  figure.  Her  shirt-waist  was  plain  and  of  cheap 
material;  the  skirt  disclosed  a  coarse  shoe  that 
had  clearly  been  bought  for  service.  Poor  girls 
with  ambitions  in  the  arts  did  not  appeal  to  him 
abstractly;  there  was  never  any  chance  of  their 
getting  anywhere.  But  he  was,  it  cannot  be  denied, 
a  man  who  rarely  missed  an  opportunity  where 
women  are  concerned.  His  adventures  had  been 
many  and  discreditable.  He  had  tried  his  powers 


80  THE   LORDS   OF 

often   and   had  the   conceit   of  his   successes.     He 
was  already  seeking  some  excuse  for  addressing  her. 

Suddenly   she  rose,    with   a   little   hopeless    sigh, 
crumpling  the   sketch   in  her  fingers. 

"Sargent    didn't    do    it    either,    the    first    time," 
remarked  Wayne. 

"No,"   she  replied,  her  eyes  wistfully  upon  the 
picture,  "I  suppose  he  didn't." 

She  did  not  look  at  him;  but  he  was  studying 
her  face,  which  was  still  rounded  in  girlish  lines. 
She  was  wonderfully  fair,  of  the  type  distinguished 
by  close  texture  of  skin  and  faintest  colour  beneath, 
—  the  merest  hint  of  colour,  subdued,  half -revealed, 
vague,  like  the  pink  shadow  in  white  roses.  Her  eyes 
at  once  arrested  and  held  his  attention.  They  were 
blue  —  the  indefinable  blue  of  sun-flooded  mid-sea  — 
and  her  dark  head  had  not  prepared  him  for  this. 
She  looked  at  him  gravely  once,  but,  with  the  portrait 
still  in  her  eyes,  only  half  seeing  him.  The  dejec 
tion  of  the  young  aspirant  who  gazes  upon  an  achieve 
ment  he  feels  to  be  immeasurably  beyond  his  own 
powers  was  written  upon  her  face.  Wayne  had 
expected  that  she  would  show  embarrassment  when 
he  revealed  himself,  but  her  indifference  piqued  him. 
Here,  clearly,  was  no  subject  for  easy  conquest. 
She  seemed  sincerely  interested  in  the  beautiful 
painting  before  which  they  stood,  and  perhaps, 
after  all,  she  was  not  the  usual  paint-smearing 
trifler,  but  a  serious  student.  She  spoke  further 
of  the  portrait,  and  he  had  now  a  half -amused 
sense  that  she  was  speaking  to  herself  rather  than 


HIGH   DECISION  81 

to  him.  He  was,  in  a  way,  a  lay  figure,  to  be  suffered 
for  a  moment  as  though  he  were  as  wooden  as  the 
bench  from  which  he  had  risen. 

"I  was  trying  to  copy  the  hand  —  the  fifth 
time  to-day  —  and  I  simply  can't  do  it.  As  it 
rests  on  the  arm  of  the  chair  —  there  —  it  is  per 
fectly  natural;  but  I  can't  get  it;  I  simply  can't." 

She  uncrumpled  her  sketch  and  glanced  at  it 
again;  then  with  fresh  disdain  she  shut  her  hand 
upon  it.  Her  pencil  dropped  and  he  picked  it  up. 
The  point  was  broken.  She  put  out  her  hand  for 
it  but  he  looked  at  it  ruefully. 

"If  you  can  wait  a  moment  I  will  sharpen  it 
for  you." 

"No,  thank  you.     I  must  get  my  things  and  go." 

"But  to  leave  the  gallery  with  a  spoiled  sketch 
and  a  broken  point  to  your  pencil  would  be  most 
unfortunate.  If  you  will  hold  the  paper  to  catch 
the  shavings  I'll  sharpen  it  in  a  jiffy.  Then  you 
can  go  away  armed  for  another  day's  attack.  To 
retreat  now,  discouraged,  with  a  pointless  pencil 
would  never  do  in  the  world." 

He  laughed  his  pleasure  in  the  encounter.  She 
carried  her  dark  head  a  little  high;  and  now  that 
he  looked  directly  into  her  eyes  there  hovered  in 
them  the  faintest  hint  of  gray  that  further  strength 
ened  the  suggestion  of  the  sea. 

"I  am  not  the  least  superstitious,"   she  said. 

"But  I  am!  As  a  friend  of  art  I  could  not  think  of 
allowing  you  to  leave  with  a  broken  pencil .  Something 
would  undoubtedly  happen  to  you  on  the  way  home." 


82  THE   LORDS   OF 

He  had  caught  her  attention;  his  manner  was 
half  mocking,  half  serious;  and  he  drew  out  his 
knife  to  prolong  the  interview.  Flattery  spoke  in 
his  words  and  manner:  Wayne  Craighill  was  not 
ignorant  of  the  way  of  a  man  with  a  maid.  The 
girl  held  the  paper  while  he  sharpened  the  pencil 
deliberately,  and  she  took  careful  note  of  him  and 
his  belongings. 

"We  must  be  very  careful  not  to  drop  the 
shavings.  The  curator  would  make  a  terrible 
row  about  it.  Now  that  we  seem  to  be  alone,  with 
a  knife  in  our  posession,  we  might  cut  this  portrait 
out  of  its  frame  and  you  could  take  it  home  to  study 
at  your  leisure.  Rolled  up,  you  could  carry  it 
right  out  of  the  front  door,  and  the  newspapers 
would  have  a  seven  days'  wonder,  the  stolen 
Sargent!  There!  Not  a  bad  job  if  I  do  say  it 
myself." 

He  handed  her  the  pencil  and  took  from  her  the 
paper  with  its  shavings  and  lead  dust. 

"Now,  it's  only  fair  that  I  should  have  your 
sketch  for  my  trouble!  I  shall  keep  it  as  a  slight 
souvenir  —  of  the  beginning  —  of  our  acquain 
tance  " 

He  was  folding  it  carefully  to  hold  the  litter,  and 
he  glanced  up  to  find  that  she  had  flushed  angrily. 

"Give  it  to  me,  please." 

"But  really - 

"Give  it  to  me!" 

"I  beg  your  pardon." 

She  held  out  her  hand  and  he  placed  the   little 


HIGH   DECISION  83 

packet  in  her  palm.  It  was,  he  saw,  a  hand  that 
had  known  labour.  It  was  a  long  hand  and  a 
hand  of  strength,  and  as  he  was  mindful  of  such 
matters,  it  impressed  itself  upon  his  memory. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  and  turned  away. 

"I  am  sorry  I  made  you  angry.  I  did  not  mean 
to  do  that.  I  come  here  quite  often.  I  hope  I 
shall  see  you  again.  Some  day  you  will  catch  the 
trick  of  the  lady's  hand.  I'm  sure  of  that." 

His  tone  was  kind,  his  manner  ingratiating;  the 
meeting  was  altogether  to  his  liking  —  from  such 
a  beginning  he  had  often  gone  far.  This  girl  bore 
the  marks  of  cultivation;  it  was  hi  her  voice,  her 
manner,  the  poise  of  her  splendid  head.  She  was 
poor  —  that  was  evident  —  but  this  was  no  barrier ; 
her  poverty  presented,  in  fact,  an  avenue  of  access. 
It  had  been  his  experience  that  the  bold  approach 
was  the  surest.  She  was  already  moving  away, 
carrying  her  head  high,  the  anger  still  in  her  face, 
and  he  followed  her. 

"Please  don't  be  too  hard  on  me,"  he  begged; 
and  she  stopped  and  looked  at  him,  looked  at  him 
with  frank  curiosity  that  turned,  as  their  eyes  met, 
to  a  scorn  not  less  frank. 

"I  don't  care  for  your  acquaintance,  Mr.  Wayne 
Craighill,"  she  said  with  all  composure,  and  walked 
hurriedly  from  the  room. 

He  was  fully  sensible  of  the  contempt  with  which 
she  had  spoken  his  name,  a  name  that  was  odious 
to  clean  women  in  this  city  of  his  birth.  He  mused 
upon  this  fact  as  he  started  toward  the  door  through 


84  THE   LORDS   OF 

which  she  had  vanished;  he  was  a  notorious  char- 
acter  whom  people  of  all  classes  knew  by  sight 
and  reputation.  She  had,  he  imagined,  suffered 
him  to  speak  to  her  only  that  she  might  see  for  herself 
how  contemptible  man  might  become.  The  girl's 
scorn  emphasized  his  degradation.  She  was 
unknown  and  poor,  but  he  had  sunk  so  low  that 
even  poverty  and  obscurity  shrank  from  him.  Those 
simpering  young  things  who  had  cut  him  a  little 
while  before,  those  bread  and  butter  misses  who 
reflected  merely  the  meticulous  virtue  of  their  own 
social  order,  did  not  matter.  But  this  young  woman 
with  her  labour-roughened  hands  had  widened  the 
gulf  between  him  and  decency  with  a  glance,  a 
turn  of  the  head,  a  word.  Her  words  continued 
to  mock  him  as  he  left  the  gallery  and  descended 
the  stairway  to  the  orchestra  board's  room  below. 
He  kept  wondering  what  musical  instrument  her 
voice  suggested  and  the  thought  of  her  was  so 
enthralling  that  he  passed  the  committee  room  and 
did  not  come  to  himself  until  a  guard  touched  his 
cap  and  pointed  him  to  the  door. 

He  and  Wingfield  were  the  only  members  of  the 
board  who  appeared  to-day,  as  frequently  happened. 
Wayne  sat  down  at  a  window  to  discuss  the  pro 
grammes  that  had  been  submitted  by  the  orchestra 
director,  which  Wingfield  now  proceeded  to  tear  to 
pieces. 

"That  Dutchman's  idea  of  popular  music  is 
certainly  exquisite.  We're  not  going  to  appeal  to 
the  primitive  tastes  of  our  dear  fellow-citizens  by 


HIGH   DECISION  85 

larding  a  Wagnerian  programme  with  the  Blue 
Danube  waltz  and  the  Bon-Ton  two-step.  And 
Mendelssohn's  Spring  Song  as  a  harp  solo  is  too 
stale.  We're  going  to  keep  on  shoving  symphonies 
into  the  people  of  our  dear  city  this  winter  as  you 
shovel  coal  into  a  furnace.  Well,  what  now  ?  " 

Wayne's  glance,  straying  to  the  street  through 
the  window  by  which  they  sat,  had  fallen  upon  the 
girl  whom  he  had  left  in  the  gallery  a  moment  before. 
She  had  emerged  from  the  main  entrance  of  the 
building  and  was  moving  off  briskly.  But  what 
had  drawn  an  exclamation  from  Craighill  was  the 
appearance  upon  the  scene  of  a  man  who  seemed 
to  have  been  waiting  and  who  now  followed  the 
girl  at  a  discreet  distance.  It  was,  beyond  question, 
Joe,  Wayne's  chauffeur,  whom  he  had  dismissed 
for  the  day  an  hour  before. 

Wingfield,  following  Wayne's  glance,  saw  only 
the  girl,  now  passing  rapidly  out  of  sight. 

"Who's  your  Diana,  Wayne?  She  has  the  stride 
of  a  goddess  and  carries  her  head  as  though  she 
had  just  brushed  the  rest  of  the  deities  off  Olympus." 

"I  don't  know  her,"  said  Craighill,  and  changed 
the  subject. 


CHAPTER  VII 

WAYNE    COUNSELS   HIS   SISTER 

MR.  RICHARD  WINGFIELD,  unjustly  called 
the  Cynic,  was  suspected  of  literary  ambi 
tions;  but  the  suspicion  was  based  upon  nothing 
weightier  than  a  brochure  on  golf  which  he  had 
printed  at  his  own  expense  for  private  circulation, 
and  a  study  of  the  Greater  City,  abounding  in  sly 
ironies,  which  had  appeared  with  illustrations  in  a 
popular  periodical. 

Wingfield,  if  we  may  enter  briefly  into  particulars, 
was  tall  and  thin,  with  a  close-cropped  beard  and 
dark  hair  combed  to  the  smoothness  of  onion-skin. 
He  was  near-sighted,  and  his  twinkling  eye-glasses 
were  protected  by  a  slight  gold  chain.  His  aspect 
was  severe,  his  manner  disconcertingly  serious. 
He  carried,  in  all  weathers,  an  umbrella  whose 
handle  bore  on  a  silver  plate  the  anticipatory  legend, 
"Stolen  from  Richard  Wingfield."  He  was  on 
many  committees;  he  gave  luncheons  for  actors, 
lecturers  and  other  distinguished  visitors ;  he  attended 
the  opera  in  New  York  and  was  reported  now  and 
then  to  be  engaged  to  a  prima  donna.  He  patron 
ized  a  private  gymnasium  and  was  a  capital  fencer. 
He  cultivated  the  society  of  physicians,  discussing 
the  latest  discoveries  of  Vienna  and  Paris  in  sophis- 

86 


THE  LORDS  OF  HIGH  DECISION     87 

^r 

ticated  terminology;  he  sat  in  the  amphitheatre  at 
surgical  clinics,  inscrutable  and  grave.  His  inter 
est  in  medicine  gave  rise  to  the  belief  about  the  Club 
that  he  suffered  from  an  incurable  malady;  but  his 
medical  cronies  declared  that  he  was  as  sound  as 
wheat  and  would  live  forever.  He  affected  an 
,air  of  not  caring  greatly;  he  uttered  paradoxes  and 
enjoyed  mystifying  people;  he  quizzed  likely  sub 
jects  and  had  never  been  known  to  laugh  aloud.  It 
was  he  who  first  announced  that  five  generations 
constitute  an  old  family  in  Pittsburg.  Practical  men 
called  Wingfield  a  loafer;  others  insinuated  that  his 
private  life  would  not  bear  scrutiny.  (A  man  who 
drinks  nothing  but  koumiss  in  a  club  famed  for  its 
rye  essences  is  sure  to  be  the  victim  of  calumny.) 
There  was  a  particular  little  table  in  the  corner 
of  the  Allequippa  Club's  smoking  room  —  a  room 
where  all  branches  of  human  endeavour  were  repre 
sented  at  five  o'clock  every  afternoon,  from  the  twist 
ing  of  stogies  up  through  the  professions  to  the 
canning  of  entrees  —  there,  at  his  own  little  table, 
sat  Mr.  Wingfield,  watching,  as  he  said,  the  best 
men  of  the  Greater  City  at  the  light-hearted  occu 
pation  of  hardening  their  arteries. 

There  was  no  telling  what  might  happen;  it  was 
never  safe  to  leave  town,  and  having  spent  two  years 
abroad  in  his  young  manhood,  Wingfield  abstained 
from  further  foreign  travel.  One  must  pick  up 
gossip  when  it  is  fresh.  Nothing,  he  said,  is  so 
discouraging  as  to  miss  the  prologue;  and  so  he 
spent  most  of  his  time  at  home.  "But  for  the 


88  THE   LORDS   OF 

invention  of  sleeping-cars,  and  the  fact  of  our  being 
only  one  night  from  New  York  we  should  be  the 
most  moral  city  in  the  world,"  he  averred.  Wing- 
field  was  a  University  of  Pennsylvania  man,  and 
spoke  in  bitter  contumeliousness  of  Yale  and 
Harvard,  which  are,  as  all  Pennsylvania  men  are 
able  to  demonstrate,  grossly  inferior  institutions. 
Princeton,  to  all  such,  is  only  a  blot  on  the  Mosquito 
Strip  and  the  seat  of  ignorance.  His  mother  was  a 
Philadelphian,  and  Dick's  two  aunts  were  still  resi 
dents  of  that  city,  where,  through  much  careful 
instruction  on  their  part,  he  knew  Chestnut  Street's 
meridional  importance  and  the  sacred  names  one 
must  whisper  and  those  one  must  not  utter  at  all. 
His  income  was  derived  from  coke  ovens  situated  in 
three  districts,  and  these  it  pleased  his  humour  to 
call  Shadrach,  Meshach  and  Abednego. 

Wingfield  walked  to  Mrs.  Blair's  gate  with  Wayne 
talking  of  pictures  and  music.  He  was  a  diligent 
collector  of  anecdotes  of  the  brief  sort  that  end  with 
abrupt  and  unforeseen  climaxes,  and  he  recounted 
a  number  for  Wayne's  amusement.  He  carefully 
avoided  any  reference  to  Colonel  Craighill's  mar 
riage,  though  he  knew  Wayne  better  than  anyone 
else  and  might  have  spoken  his  mind  without  offense. 
Wayne  had  appeared  unusually  dull  and  depressed, 
a  mood  that  frequently  followed  a  debauch,  and 
Wingfield,  familiar  with  his  latest  escapade,  wished 
to  lift  his  friend's  spirits  if  he  could.  At  the  Blairs' 
gate  he  declined  Wayne's  invitation  to  enter;  but 
before  they  parted  he  made  a  point  of  suggesting 


HIGH   DECISION  89 

that  they  have  luncheon  together  the  next  day.  He 
was  wiser  and  kinder  than  most  people  gave  him 
credit  for  being,  and  here,  it  had  occurred  to  him, 
he  might  do  a  little  good. 

Wayne  entered  his  sister's  house  with  a  latch 
key  which  it  had  been  her  own  idea  that  he  should 
carry.  Mrs.  Blair  came  out  of  the  reception  room 
while  he  was  hanging  up  his  hat  and  coat  and  asked 
him  to  go  into  the  parlour  for  a  few  minutes. 

"I  have  a  caller  —  a  matter  of  business  —  I'll 
be  with  you  in  a  minute,  Wayne.  Find  something 
to  read,  won't  you?" 

He  bade  her  take  her  time  and  sought  a  table 
covered  with  magazines  in  three  languages  which 
gave  to  her  library  a  rather  club-like  air.  Mrs.  Blair 
believed  in  self-culture  and  practised  it  a  la  carte, 
not  overlooking  the  hors  d'osuvres  and  desserts.  He 
lighted  a  cigarette  and  turned  over  the  periodicals 
until  he  found  one  that  interested  him.  The  murmur 
of  voices  reached  him  from  the  room  across  the  hall ; 
and  he  argued  that  the  caller  was  no  one  he  knew,  or 
he  should  have  been  asked  to  come  in  and  speak  to  her, 
such  being  Mrs.  Blair's  way.  In  a  few  minutes  she 
carried  the  conversation  to  what  appeared  from  her 
tone  to  be  a  satisfactory  conclusion.  It  had  grown 
dark  and  a  servant  brightened  the  hall  and  adjoining 
rooms  with  the  mild  electric  glow  that  was  Mrs. 
Blair's  ideal  of  house  lighting.  Wayne,  lifting  his 
eyes  at  the  soft  flooding  of  his  page,  saw  that  his  sister's 
caller  was  the  girl  he  had  met  in  the  art  gallery. 
Her  long  coat  made  her  appear  taller  as  she  stood 


90  THE   LORDS  OF 

against  the  background  of  the  reception  room  por 
tieres.  She  was  laughing  happily  at  some  remark 
of  Mrs.  Blair's.  She  murmured  something  that  did 
not  reach  him,  but  Mrs.  Blair  caught  her  hands 
exclaiming: 

"Don't  trouble  about  it;  it  will  soon  begin  to  come 
easier.  You  are  going  to  do  something  really  worth 
while;  remember,  I  have  faith  in  you  and  you're 
bound  to  arrive.  No  one  ever  disappoints  me!" 

"I  certainly  hope  I  shan't  be  a  disappointment 
to  you,  Mrs.  Blair.  I  can  never  thank  you  enough 
for  what  you  are  doing  for  me." 

As  the  outer  door  closed,  Mrs.  Blair  appeared 
before  Wayne. 

"Well,  what  are  they  saying?  Is  the  male  popu 
lation  taking  it  calmly  ?  Is  there  rebellion  any 
where  ? ' ' 

Wayne  tossed  his  magazine  aside  as  his  sister  bent 
over  and  kissed  him.  She  curled  up  in  a  big  chair, 
while  he  brought  his  mind  to  bear  upon  her  question. 

"My  dear  Fanny,  why  do  you  ask  anything  so 
preposterous?  Do  you  suppose  anybody  is  going 
to  tell  our  father  that  he  ought  to  consider  well  the 
seriousness  of  a  second  marriage,  his  duty  to  his 
children,  his  duty  to  their  mother  and  all  that  kind 
of  rot  ?  Not  on  your  life,  my  dearest  sister !  Nor 
is  our  father's  pastor  going  to  ask  him  for  the  cre 
dentials  of  the  lady  he  proposes  to  honour.  Every 
body  downtown  is  delighted.  He  got  a  jolly  from 
every  man  he  saw  at  the  Club  to-day  where,  by  the 
way,  I  was  taken  to  show  our  delight  in  the  prospect 


HIGH  DECISION  91 

of  seeing  a  new  face  at  the  ancestral  dinner  table. 
So  much  for  us  males ;  how  about  the  women  ?  Are 
there  any  signs  of  revolt  ?  I  met  Dick's  mother  a 
while  ago,  and  she  had  her  knife  sharpened." 

"Many  people  are  still  away,  but  my  telephone 
has  rung  all  day  and  the  town's  buzzing." 

"It's  a  good  thing  for  the  town  to  have  something 
that  it  can  concentrate  on  for  a  few  days.  Dick 
Wingfield  says  the  trouble  with  us  here  is  our  lack  of 
social  unification.  Our  approaching  stepmother's 
advent  may  have  the  effect  of  concentrating  social 
influences." 

"The  older  women  resent  it;  they  declare  they 
will  have  nothing  to  do  with  her." 

"Those  estimable  ladies  whose  husbands  have 
paper  in  banks  where  father  is  a  director  will  sing  a 
different  tune  this  evening." 

"Men  don't  know  how  we  women  feel  about  such 
matters;  if  mama  had  not  been  the  woman  she  was 
it  wouldn't  be  so  hard." 

"Oh,  yes,  it  would,  Fanny!  Besides  you  don't 
know  what  sort  of  a  woman  father's  going  to  bring 
home  to  fill  our  Christmas  stockings." 

"Please  don't  make  it  all  more  horrible  than  nec 
essary,"  she  cried.  "It's  that  sort  of  thing,  Wayne, 
the  Christmas  and  the  birthdays  and  the  Sunday 
evenings  at  the  piano,  when  she  taught  us  to  sing 
songs  together  —  it's  all  that  that  hurts  me." 

Her  eyes  were  bright  with  tears.  Wayne  rose  and 
walked  the  length  of  the  room. 

"For  God's  sake,  Fanny,  cut  all  that  out." 


92  THE   LORDS  OF 

"That's  what  it  means  to  me  and  it  means  even 
more  to  you.  I  think  we  made  a  mistake  in  not 
showing  resentment  when  father  told  us.  But  we 
took  it  as  calmly  as  though  he  had  told  us  he 
had  bought  a  new  chair  or  a  hat  rack." 

"You're  rating  the  lady  as  a  piece  of  furniture, 
which  is  putting  it  pretty  high.  You  mustn't  let 
Mrs.  Wingfield  and  these  other  old  ladies  give  you 
nervous  prostration  over  this  business.  As  I've 
already  reminded  you,  father  wasn't  born  yesterday; 
you  may  be  sure  that  he  is  making  no  mistake.  Very 
likely  she  has  a  few  millions  in  bank  for  spending 
money.  For  myself,  I  await  her  coming  with  the 
liveliest  anticipations." 

A  shadow  crossed  his  sister's  face  as  she  listened. 
He  had  spoken  harshly  and  she  did  not  like  the  look 
in  his  eyes.  She  knew  that  he  would  care,  but  she 
did  not  know  that  he  would  care  so  much.  He  took 
a  cigar  from  the  tabarette  at  his  elbow  and  lighted  it. 
She  studied  him  carefully  as  the  match  flamed. 
His  hands  were  quite  steady  to-day,  and  there  was 
an  air  of  assurance  about  him  that  puzzled  her 
deeply.  He  blew  a  smoke-ring  and  threw  out  his 
arms  to  shake  down  his  cuffs. 

"Does  anyone  know  a  thing  about  the  woman? 
Have  you  found  out  anything  ?  " 

"That  question,  my  dear  sister,  has  been  asked 
many  times  in  the  Greater  City  to-day,  and  the 
answer  has  been,  so  far  as  I  know,  an  emphatic 
negative.  But  so  much  the  better.  If  the  gossips 
have  nothing  to  work  on  they  can't  do  much.  The 


HIGH  DECISION  9a 

fact  of  the  woman  being  unknown  is  nothing;  it's 
all  in  her  favour.  Mrs.  Craighill,  with  her  faint 
background  of  New  Hampshire  —  or  is  it  Vermont  ? 
—  her  long  sojourns  abroad  and  all  that,  will  strike 
town  with  a  clean  bill  of  health.  I  tell  you  father 
is  wise  in  his  generation.  No  old  bones  to  pick. 
The  woman  will  come  into  camp  as  fresh  and  new 
as  her  trousseau." 

"I  couldn't  say  anything  the  other  night  when 
father  told  us,  but  now  that  the  newspapers  have 
done  their  worst  it  seems  like  the  end  of  everything," 
sighed  Mrs.  Blair. 

"To  me,"  said  Wayne  musingly,  "it  is  only  the 
beginning.  We  had  been  travelling  in  a  hard  rut. 
I  had  become  immensely  bored  with  the  family  life. 
Now  we  shall  see  the  vista  broaden  and  lengthen. 
My  curiosity  is  on  edge.  My  father's  wife  —  ah,  the 
thought  of  it!  I  am  at  her  feet;  I  crave  her  bless 
ing!  Your  point  of  view  is  all  wrong,  dear  sister. 
We  must  put  such  feelings  aside;  our  duty,  Fanny, 
is  not  to  the  dead  but  to  the  living." 

"Wayne!  Wayne!  Will  you  stop?  You  are 
not  yourself;  it's  not  like  you  to  talk  so." 

"My  dear  Fanny,"  he  persisted,  flicking  the  ash 
from  his  cigar,  "if  in  intimating  that  I  am  not  myself 
you  imply  that  I  have  been  drinking  I  will  say  to  you 
that  you  never  did  me  a  greater  wrong.  Not  only 
have  I  had  no  form  of  drink  to-day  but  our  own 
chaste  river  water,  but  it  may  interest  you  to  know 
that  I  have  cut  out  the  whiskey  when  it  is  red 
altogether.  I  scorn  it;  I  put  it  away  forever.  I 


94  THE   LORDS   OF 

signalize  our  father's  marriage  by  renouncing  drink. 
Will  you  not  congratulate  me?  " 

"I  don't  understand  you.  It  is  not  like  you  to 
talk  this  way." 

She  was  mystified,  and  stared  at  him  with  dry 
eyes,  wondering. 

"You  don't  seem  impressed  by  my  reformation; 
maybe  you  don't  believe  I  can  quit!  I  tell  you, 
Fanny,  the  Blotter  will  soak  up  the  blithesome  cock 
tail  no  more.  When  the  new  Mrs.  Roger  Craighill 
comes  she  shall  find  me  the  most  abstemious  person 
hi  town.  My  friends  —  and  I  still  have  one  or  two 
—  will  be  incredulous  and  amazed ;  my  enemies  will 
express  regret;  the  kind  who  have  robbed  me  when 
I've  been  loaded  will  miss  an  income  that  has  been 
as  sure  as  taxes.  I  have  already  committed  myself 
to  father,  and  he  expressed  himself  with  his  habitual 
reserve  as  delighted." 

Mrs.  Blair  rose  and  changed  her  seat  to  get 
nearer  him;  her  mystification  grew.  There  was  a 
bitter  undernote  that  belied  his  surface  lightness. 

"Wayne,  there  is  something  I  want  you  to  do: 
I  want  you  to  move  out  of  father's  house;  I  don't 
want  you  to  stay  after  this  woman  comes." 

"But,  Fanny,  I've  promised  father  to  remain! 
Can't  you  see  what  a  lot  of  gossip  would  be  caused 
by  my  leaving?  Think  of  the  embarrassment 
and  annoyance  to  father!  Here  we  should  have  a 
realization  of  the  old  joke  about  the  cruel  step 
mother  and  the  incorrigible,  brow- beaten  son,  driven 
from  home!  I  tell  you,  father  is  no  child;  he  has 


HIGH   DECISION  95 

foreseen  exactly  that  possibility,  as  he  foresees  all 
possibilities.  He  is  vain  of  his  prophetic  vision; 
you  can't  lose  father,  I  tell  you! " 

"But  after  a  few  weeks,"  she  pleaded,  "when  the 
town  has  got  used  to  her  being  here,  you  will  have 
settled  all  that  and  you  can  make  some  plausible 
excuse  for  leaving.  You  can  come  here  and  live 
with  us.  John  would  be  only  too  glad." 

"To  leave  after  a  few  months  would  certainly  look 
bad;  and  it's  the  look  of  the  thing  that  interests 
father.  No ;  he  has  asked  me  to  stay,  and  I'm  going 
to  stay.  Besides,  my  dear  Fanny,  shall  I  kick 
myself  from  my  own  doorstep  ?  You  must  remem 
ber  that  the  house  is  mine.  Mother  wanted  it  that 
way;  she  had  a  sentiment  about  it." 

'Yes;  the  house  will  be  yours  when  father  dies; 
but  while  he  lives  it  is  his.  I  wish  you  hadn't  men 
tioned  that;  it  makes  the  whole  matter  more  hideous. 
The  very  ground  was  dear  to  mother;  the  coming  of 
this  other  woman  is  a  profanation." 

Wayne  put  down  his  cigar  and  stood  before  his 
sister,  who  sat  crumpled  in  her  seat  playing  nerv 
ously  with  her  handkerchief. 

"See  here,  Fanny;  there's  no  use  in  being  hys 
terical  about  this  business.  We'd  better  grin  and 
accept  the  situation.  Believe  the  worst :  that  father  has 
been  trapped  by  an  adventuress;  we've  got  a  little 
pride  of  our  own,  I  hope!  On  the  other  hand,  she 
may  prove  a  perfectly  delightful  person." 

"I  don't  see  how  you  can  say  such  things,"  she 
moaned. 


96  THE   LORDS   OF 

"It's  remarkable  how  much  faith  you  women 
have  in  one  another.  You  trust  one  another  about 
as  far  as  you  could  push  a  mountain  in  a  wheel 
barrow.  Why  should  you  condemn  her  before  she 
has  a  chance  to  speak  for  herself?  Put  yourself  in 
her  place!" 

He  smiled  at  his  own  nobility.  His  sister  was  not 
heeding  him,  but  Wayne  had  really  a  great  deal  of 
influence  with  her;  and  he  went  on  to  discuss  the 
matter  in  its  more  practical  aspects,  which  had 
been  the  object  of  his  coming  and  her  own  intention. 
He  defended  his  father  for  excluding  them  from  the 
ceremony  itself;  he  persuaded  her  that  it  was  better 
so,  just  as  his  father  had  said.  Fanny  Blair  did  not 
often  strike  her  colours,  but  the  strain  of  the  day, 
with  its  incessant  telephoning,  and  the  daring  of 
intimate  friends  who  had  sought  her  out  with  the 
effect,  at  least,  of  bringing  the  daily  newspapers  in 
their  hands  for  confirmation,  had  told  upon  her. 
When  WTayne  pleased  he  could  be  helpful;  and  they 
were  soon  discussing  quite  calmly  the  series  of  enter 
tainments  which  Mrs.  Blair  had  already  planned. 
She  even  laughed  at  Wayne's  comments  on  some  of 
the  combinations  she  proposed  for  two  or  three  dinners 
which  were  designed  to  give  the  older  friends  of  the 
family  an  opportunity  to  inspect  the  bride  immediately. 

"Get  the  old  stagers  first;  that's  the  card  to  play, 
for  we  are  an  old  and  conservative  family.  Your 
dance,  reception  and  tea  will  bring  in  the  other 
elements;  but  the  dinner  is  more  intimate,  and 
offers  better  hypnotic  possibilities." 


HIGH   DECISION  97 

"She's  more  likely  to  paralyze  than  hypnotize. 
Her  face  in  that  picture  has  haunted  me,  Wayne." 

"Ah!  I  knew  it  would  come!  You  already  feel 
her  spell.  So  do  I!" 

She  rose  and  peered  into  his  face  searchingly, 
laying  her  hands  on  his  shoulders. 

"Wayne,  I  believe  you  know  that  woman!  Play 
fair  with  me  about  this;  have  you  ever  seen  her? 
Have  you  ever  heard  of  her  before?" 

"Fanny,  how  absurd  you  are!  You  asked  me 
that  question  before  and  I  answered  no.  Do  yea 
imagine  I  have  seen  her  to-day  ?  Come  now,  please 
be  the  reasonable  little  sister  you  always  have  been. 
You  are  the  brightest,  cleverest,  dearest  girl  in  the 
world.  That  gown  is  a  dream,  if  you  ask  me; 
you  should  be  painted  by  Alexander  for  the  family 
portrait  ^allery.  Dick  Wingfield  suggested  to  father 
to-day  his  own  duty  in  the  matter  and  I  see  the 
finished  product  —  father  full-length  in  a  frock 
coat,  with  his  hand  resting  lightly  on  a  volume  of 
his  own  speeches." 

Mrs.  Blair's  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"Poor  mama!"  she  mourned.  "I'm  glad  her 
portrait  was  painted  just  when  it  was  —  the  picture 
is  so  dear.  I'm  going  to  get  it  out  of  the  house 
before  that  creature  comes  if  it's  the  last  thing  I  do." 

"Please,  Fanny,  don't  do  that,"  he  pleaded, 
touched  in  his  own  heart  more  than  he  wished  her 
to  know.  "Come,  now,  cheer  up,  for  I  must  trot 
if  I  get  home  for  dinner.  I  promised  father  to  be 
there;  it's  close  upon  our  last  tete-a-tete.  Count 


98  THE   LORDS   OF 

on  me  for  all  your  functions.  I'll  get  Wingfield 
to  support  me  at  the  teas  and  so  on.  If  you  want 
me  to  come  to  your  antiquarians'  dinner  I  shall 
be  here  and  you  may  place  me  next  the  solemnest 
dowager  you  invite  to  the  banquet.  You  needn't  go 
on  a  cold-water  basis  for  the  occasion  either;  my 
glasses  shall  be  turned  down;  remember  that!" 

"I'm  glad,  oh,  so  glad,  Wayne!  I  can't  tell  you 
what  that  means  to  me." 

She  stood  in  the  doorway  and  watched  him  slip 
into  his  topcoat.  He  moved  with  the  athlete's  ease; 
there  was  a  real  grace  in  him.  He  had  never  been 
so  dear  to  her  sisterly  heart  as  now,  in  the  light  of 
this  new  event  before  which  they  waited.  For 
sister-love  goes  far  and  deep.  Like  charity,  it 
suffereth  long  and  is  kind.  In  self-effacement 
and  service  it  is  happiest;  and  it  knows  the  pangs 
of  neglect  and  jealousy.  Fanny's  eyes  were  upon 
Wayne  in  love  and  admiration  as  she  watched  him 
fasten  his  coat  and  draw  on  his  gloves. 

"By  the  way,  Fanny,  that  was  a  stunning  girl 
you  had  in  there  when  I  came.  I  caught  a  glimpse 
of  her  against  those  dark  red  curtains  —  a  very 
pleasing  portrait  if  I'm  asked!" 

"She  has  known  trouble,  poor  child;  I'm  doing 
what  I  can  to  help  her." 

"That's  like  you,  Fanny." 

"She's  very  interesting;  she  has  a  lot  of  talent." 

"If  you  need  help  in  advancing  her  cause  you 
may  call  on  me,"  he  said  lightly,  but  she  knew  him 
so  well  that  she  fathomed  his  serious  wish  to  know 


HIGH  DECISION  99 

about  her  protegee.  He  had  taken  up  his  hat,  but 
lingered  expectantly.  "I  saw  her  in  the  art  gallery 
to-day,  and  she's  certainly  unusual.  I  wish  you 
would  introduce  me  to  her!" 

Mrs.  Blair  had  not  been  prepared  for  the  direct 
ness  of  his  request.  Her  figure  stiffened;  she  must 
be  on  guard  against  the  joy  in  him  that  had  filled 
her  heart. 

"I  know  the  way  round  at  the  Institute  and  I 
might  be  of  service  to  her,"  he  said  carelessly,  but 
she  knew  that  he  was  deeply  interested  —  women 
always  interested  him  —  and  she  saw  no  way  at 
the  moment  of  putting  him  off. 

"I  can't,  Wayne." 

"I  should  like  to  know  why  not  ?"  and  he  laughed 
as  he  balanced  his  hat  by  its  brim  in  his  hands.  She 
usually  yielded  readily  to  any  of  his  requests  and 
he  was  surprised  that  she  parleyed  now. 

"I  can't;  I  mustn't;  and  please,  Wayne,  don't 
make  any  effort  to  find  out  who  she  is.  I  beg  you 
not  to;  I  don't  want  you  to  know  her,"  she  ended, 
with  pleading  in  her  voice  and  eyes. 

His  face  clouded  and  he  turned  to  the  door  and 
opened  it.  Then  he  flung  round  upon  her  roughly: 

"My  God,  Fanny;  have  I  sunk  as  low  as  that!" 

She  stepped  into  the  vestibule  and  watched  him 
striding  through  the  shrubbery  toward  the  gate. 
She  pressed  her  face  to  the  glass  of  the  vestibule 
doors,  shielding  her  eyes  from  the  overhead  light 
with  her  hands  as  she  looked  after  him.  She  always 
made  a  point  of  sending  him  away  happy  when  she 


100    THE  LORDS  OF  HIGH  DECISION 

could;  and  now  he  had  left  her  in  anger.  She 
still  watched  him  after  he  had  left  the  grounds  and 
passed  into  the  street,  walking  slower  than  was 
his  wont,  and  with  his  head  bowed.  The  curious 
mood  in  which  he  was  accepting  his  father's  marriage 
still  distressed  her;  and  his  declaration  that  he  had 
given  up  drink  had  carried  no  real  conviction,  now 
that  she  pondered  his  words  and  manner.  She 
waited  until  an  opening  through  the  trees  gave 
her  a  last  glimpse  of  him  across  the  hedge  under 
the  electric  light  at  the  corner,  then  with  a  deep 
sigh  she  turned  into  the  house. 

When,  a  little  later,  he  called  her  on  the  telephone 
and  begged  her  not  to  mind  anything  he  had  said 
on  leaving  —  his  usual  way  of  making  peace  after 
their  occasional  tiffs  —  she  was  only  half  relieved. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE    COMING   OF   MRS.   CRAIGHILL 

MY  promptness  deserves  a  better  cause!" 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Blair  as  she  stepped  from 
her  motor  at  the  entrance  to  the  railway  station, 
where  Wayne  in  his  father's  car  had  arrived  but 
a  moment  earlier.  Mrs.  Blair  had  brought  down 
her  two  children,  and  these  in  their  smart  fall 
coats  were  still  protesting  against  the  haste  with 
which  they  had  been  snatched  from  their  beds 
and  dressed  in  their  Sunday  clothes;  but  their 
faces  brightened  at  the  sight  of  their  uncle,  upon 
whom  they  fell  clamorously  with  a  demand  to  be 
taken  into  the  train  sheds  to  see  the  locomotives. 
Wayne  was  more  amiable  than  his  sister  had  seen 
him  since  their  father  gave  the  first  warning  of 
his  marriage.  He  chaffed  the  children  and  promised 
to  take  them  to  a  football  game  the  next  Saturday  if 
they  would  let  him  off  as  to  the  engines;  and  when 
they  were  appeased  he  held  up  for  his  sister's  inspec 
tion  the  morning  papers,  with  their  first-page  account 
of  the  marriage  in  New  York  the  preceding  day. 
"Simplicity  marked  all  the  arrangements,'"  he 
read.  "'Only  the  bride's  mother  and  the  necessary 
witnesses  were  present  —  dined  very  quietly  at 
Sherry's  —  scarce  noted  in  the  fashionable  throng 

101 


102  THE   LORDS   OF 

of  the  great  dining-room  —  Colonel  Craighill's  pri 
vate  car  attached  to  the  Pittsburg  Flyer'  —  and 
so"on,"  and  Wayne  shook  out  the  paper  to  display 
the  portraits  of  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Craighill  and  a 
view  of  the  Craighill  home. 

The  picture  of  the  house  evoked  an  exclamation 
of  disgust  from  Mrs.  Blair. 

"Oh,  Wayne,  they  might  have  spared  us  that! 
The  house  —  it  hurts  worse  than  anything  else. 
It's  sacrilege  —  it  isn't  fair." 

Wayne  folded  the  paper  and  thrust  it  into  his 
pocket  to  get  it  out  of  her  sight. 

"Now,  Sis,  you've  got  to  cheer  up.  You're 
looking  bullier  than  ever  this  morning.  Those 
clothes  must  have  eaten  a  hole  in  John's  check 
book.  It's  rather  nasty  of  John  not  to  come  down 
and  face  the  music  with  you." 

"John  couldn't;  he  simply  couldn't,"  she  declared 
defensively. 

"Wouldn't,  you  mean!  John  Blair  is  not  a  man 
to  get  up  to  meet  his  wife's  relations  on  an  early 
train  if  he  can  duck  it.  But  the  kids  help  out  a 
lot.  They're  a  charming  feature  of  the  morning. 
You  ought  to  have  taught  them  to  sing  a  carol 
and  scatter  flowers  as  grandpapa  comes  through 
the  gates  leading  their  new  grandmama  by  the 
hand.  It  would  have  been  nuts  for  those  reporters 
over  there  with  the  camera  men." 

"No;  you  don't  mean  that  they  are  here!"  she 
gasped. 

He  indicated  with  a  nod  several  men  and  two 


HIGH  DECISION  103 

women  waiting  near  the  news-stand.  They  carried 
cameras  and  were  watching  Wayne  and  his  sister 
with  interest. 

"The  women  are  the  society  reporters;  they're 
going  to  do  this  thing  right.  Mrs.  Craighill's 
coming-home  gown  will  be  described  in  proper 
dry-goods  language;  no  blundering  male  eye  for 
this  job!" 

"  How  perfectly  horrible!  I  wish  I  hadn't  brought 
the  children  if  we're  all  to  get  into  the  papers." 

"Brace  up!  You  can't  flinch  now.  Besides, 
there's  the  train!" 

He  led  the  way  out  of  the  waiting  room  and  into  the 
train-shed  as  the  New  York  express  rolled  heavily  in. 

The  private  car  was  at  the  end  of  the  train  and 
before  they  reached  it  Colonel  Craighill's  children 
saw  his  tall  figure  in  the  vestibule.  Their  eyes,  were, 
however,  upon  the  lady  behind  him,  whose  hat 
and  coat  had  already  been  appraised  by  Mrs.  Blair 
in  that  sharp  coup  d'  oeil  by  which  one  woman 
dissects  the  garb  of  another.  The  porter  jumped 
out  with  his  arms  filled  with  hand  baggage,  and  as 
Colonel  Craighill  stepped  sedately  forth,  Mrs. 
Blair's  arms  were  at  once  about  her  father's  neck. 
For  an  instant  there  was  a  sob  in  her  throat,  but 
she  stifled  it  and  her  hands  were  immediately 
extended  to  her  father's  wife,  who  hesitated  upon 
the  car  steps. 

"Fanny,  this  is  my  wife,  Adelaide.  Good  morn 
ing,  Wayne!" 

"Welcome  home!"  cried  Mrs.  Blair  bravely,  and 


104  THE   LORDS   OF 

seized  the  lady's  hands  nervously  in  her  own.  Then 
with  a  sudden  impulse,  as  though  to  complete, 
beyond  any  criticism,  her  acceptance  of  the  new 
comer,  she  kissed  her  stepmother  on  the  cheek. 

"You  are  just  my  height,  aren't  you!"  she 
exclaimed,  stepping  back. 

Wayne  waited  hat  in  hand,   smiling. 

"Adelaide,  this  is  my  son,  Wayne!" 

"Good  morning!  I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  said 
Wayne,  bowing  over  Mrs.  Craighill's  hand;  and 
as  he  raised  his  head  their  eyes  met  with,  it  seemed, 
a  particular  inquiry  and  plea  in  hers. 

"I'll  attend  to  the  baggage.  Give  me  your  checks, 
father." 

It  was  over,  this  first  meeting  between  Colonel 
Craighill's  wife  and  her  husband's  children.  As 
they  walked  through  the  waiting  room  there  was 
a  click  of  cameras.  Other  eyes  than  Mrs.  Blair's 
had  already  noted  the  new  Mrs.  Craighill's  outlines, 
and  the  films  in  the  newspaper  cameras  had  recorded 
a  trim,  graceful  figure  of  medium  height,  a  well- 
set  head,  crowned  with  a  pretty  toque,  and  a  light 
travelling  coat  of  unimpeachable  cut. 

In  the  waiting  room  the  Blair  boys  were  presented, 
while  their  mother  watched  the  meeting  critically.  A 
slight  to  her  children,  an  indifference  to  their  charm 
would  have  been  fatal;  but  Mrs.  Craighill  bent 
to  them  graciously.  She  had  even  remembered 
their  names,  and  applied  them  correctly.  The 
lads  suffered  themselves  to  be  kissed  and  were 
thereupon  sent  home  in  the  Blair  motor. 


HIGH   DECISION  105 

Colonel  Craighill  had  asked  Mrs.  Blair  to  come 
to  his  house  for  breakfast,  and  they  were  all  soon 
seated  in  his  car,  which  the  chauffeur  drove  slowly, 
so  that  Colonel  Craighill  might  point  out  to  his  wife 
features  of  the  urban  landscape  that  struck  him 
as  particularly  interesting.  As  the  rise  of  the  boul 
evard  lifted  them  out  of  the  commercial  district, 
the  dark  cloud  that  brooded  above  the  rivers  gave 
Colonel  Craighill  an  opportunity  to  introduce  his 
wife,  with  a  wave  of  the  hand,  to  the  prodigious 
industries  which  thus  advertised  themselves  upon 
the  very  sky.  He  was  at  the  point  of  quoting  the 
enormous  tonnages  to  which  the  ironmongery  of 
the  region  ran;  but  Mrs.  Blair  thwarted  him. 

"Adelaide!"  she  cried.  "There!  Did  you  see 
how  naturally  I  spoke  your  name  the  first  time! 
I  may  call  you  that,  mayn't  I?" 

The  two  ladies  clasped  hands,  while  Colonel 
Craighill  smiled  upon  them  in  benignant  approval. 

"I  was  going  to  call  attention  to  that  speck  of 
soot  that  has  just  settled  on  your  nose  —  your  first!" 
Mrs.  Blair  continued.  "Ah!  there  you  have  it 
now!"  she  concluded  as  Mrs.  Craighill  found  the 
offender  with  her  handkerchief. 

"That,  we  may  say,  marks  your  baptism  into 
full  citizenship,"  beamed  Colonel  Craighill. 

As  the  residential  area  unfolded  itself,  he  named 
the  owners  of  many  of  the  houses  they  were  passing, 
while  Mrs.  Blair  summarized  their  history  in  short, 
amusing  phrases.  Wayne,  sitting  on  the  front  seat, 
turned  his  head  to  throw  in  a  word  now  and  then; 


106  THE   LORDS   OF 

but  for  the  greater  part  he  kept  his  own  counsel. 
He  overheard  his  sister's  rapid  survey  of  the  social 
geography  of  the  Greater  City.  She  declared  that 
there  was  no  debating  the  claims  of  the  East  End 
to  social  supremacy,  though  there  were  what  she 
called  "nice  people"  in  the  red  brick  homes  of 
transpontine  Allegheny.  "Dick  Wingfield,"  she 
quoted,  "always  says  that  in  crossing  the  river, 
Charon  and  not  the  bridge  company  gets  the  fee. 
Dick  calls  the  river  the  Stygian  wave."  Mrs. 
Blair  was  not  sure  that  Mrs.  Craighill  quite  took 
this  in,  but  it  did  not  matter  in  one  who  smiled 
responsively  at  everything  and  appeared  anxious  to 
please. 

There  was  the  usual  difficulty  in  explaining  to 
a  stranger  the  triangular  shape  of  the  city  clasped 
by  its  two  rivers  that  so  quickly  flow  as  one,  and  the 
fact  that  you  may,  if  you  like,  take  a  boat  here  for 
New  Orleans  if  you  are  bent  upon  adventure.  "Are 
there  suburbs?"  Mrs.  Craighill  asked;  and  rising 
to  this  prompting  Mrs.  Blair  flashed  an  illuminating 
glance  upon  Stanwixley,  where,  she  conceded,  there 
were  delightful  people,  but  why  they  should  live 
where  they  did  was  beyond  her  powers  of  under 
standing.  Colonel  Craighill  protested  now  and  then, 
but  smilingly,  as  one  who  would,  at  the  fitting 
moment,  pronounce  the  final  word  in  all  such  matters. 
Greater  philosophers  than  Fanny  Blair  have  found 
it  difficult  to  hit  off  in  a  few  phrases  the  social  align 
ments  of  the  Greater  City.  Where  there  is  no 
centre,  no  common  and  unifying  social  expression, 


HIGH  DECISION  107 

it  is  not  easy  to  find  a  point  of  departure.  Even 
the  terra  sancta  of  the  East  End  presents  no  stern 
walls  to  the  newcomer  who  can  provide  himself  with 
a  house  and  a  chef.  And  it  is  not  correct  to  speak 
of  social  strata  in  the  City  of  the  Iron  Heart,  for 
the  term  implies  depth,  and  the  life  here  at  this 
period  was  wholly  superficial,  a  thing  of  geography 
and  cliques,  the  one  fairly  rigid,  the  other  unstable 
and  shifting.  But  these  were  the  Years  of  the  Great 
Prosperity,  a  time  of  broad  social  readjustments 
and  generous  inclusion.  Poverty  alone,  we  may  say, 
enforces  the  rules  of  exact  social  differentiation; 
there  has  never  been  in  America  any  society  so 
scrupulous,  proud  and  sensitive  as  that  of  the 
Southern  cavaliers  when  they  threw  off  their  armour 
and  returned  to  their  despoiled  estates. 

It  did  not  seem  possible  during  these  bountiful 
years  that  the  wolf  would  ever  yelp  in  the  steep 
canons  of  the  Greater  City,  or  that  steel,  iron  and 
coal  could  ever  less  magically  change  to  gold.  It 
was,  indeed,  inconceivable  that  the  prosperous 
citizens  would  not  forever  disport  themselves  in 
the  glittering  hotels  of  New  York  and  go  on  dis 
covering,  like  so  many  Columbuses,  the  delights 
of  London  and  Paris.  Nowhere  were  these  Midases 
more  in  evidence  than  on  the  transatlantic  steamers, 
where  their  millions  were  computed  in  awed  whispers 
by  less  favoured  travellers  and  the  stewards  danced 
with  unwonted  alacrity  in  the  confident  hope  of 
largess. 

"It's  our  American  habit" —    Colonel  Craighill 


108  THE   LORDS   OF 

was  saying  —  "and  not  a  bad  trait,  to  believe  our 
own  state  and  our  own  city  and  our  own  quarter 
of  the  block  where  we  live  the  most  ideal  place 
in  the  world.  And  this,  Adelaide,  is  home!" 

Mrs.  Blair  flung  off  her  wraps  in  the  hall  and 
went  to  the  dining  room  to  interview  the  maid 
about  breakfast.  She  arranged  with  her  own  hands 
the  roses  she  had  sent  for  this  first  table,  and,  this 
accomplished  to  her  satisfaction,  she  peered  into 
the  cabinet  that  held  the  best  of  her  mother's  Sevres 
with  a  lingering  regret  that  she  had  not  made  way 
with  it  while  there  was  yet  time;  for  Mrs.  Blair 
was  eminently  human,  and  women  are  never  so 
weak  as  before  the  temptation  to  loot.  She  heard 
her  father's  voice  above,  describing  to  his  wife  the 
character  of  the  upper  chambers  and  she  joined  Wayne 
in  the  library  where  he  stood  in  the  bay  window  look 
ing  out  upon  the  thinning  boughs  of  the  maples. 

"Well,"  she  exclaimed  with  a  half  sigh,  "the 
worst  is  over." 

'You've  done  bully,  Fanny.  You've  risen  to  the 
occasion!" 

"Oh,  it  might  be  worse!  It  might  be  infinitely 
worse.  What  do  you  think  of  her?" 

"Oh,  she's  not  bad!  I  should  call  her  a  pretty 
woman." 

;'Well,  she  doesn't  seem  to  have  much  to  say!" 

"No  one  can,  Sis,  when  you  get  going.  She 
remarked  quite  distinctly  that  she  liked  summer 
better  than  winter,  and  I  thought  she  did  well  to 
get  that  in." 


HIGH  DECISION  109 

"Well,  she  was  nice  to  the  children,  anyhow," 
sighed  Mrs.  Blair,  not  heeding  him. 

Steps  were  heard  on  the  stair  and  in  a  moment 
Mrs.  Craighill  entered  at  her  husband's  side. 

"I  hope  we  haven't  kept  you  waiting.  It's  so 
good  of  you  to  stop." 

"Breakfast  is  served  always  at  eight  o'clock," 
Mrs.  Blair  explained  as  they  moved  toward  the 
dining  room.  "I  was  driven  from  my  home  by 
that  rule.  Father  would  never  yield  fifteen  minutes 
even  when  I  had  been  dancing  all  night." 

Wayne  drew  back  the  chair  for  the  new  mistress 
of  the  house,  and  then  sat  down  opposite  his  sister 
at  the  round  table.  All  contributed  a  few  common 
places  to  the  first  difficult  moments  at  the  table, 
and  Mrs.  Blair  took  advantage  of  the  opportunity 
to  scrutinize  the  newcomer  more  closely.  Mrs. 
Craighill  was  pretty,  undeniably  that;  but  it  was 
a  prettiness  without  distinction ;  it  lay  in  the  general 
effect,  and  in  her  ready  smile  rather  than  in  particular 
features.  Her  hands  were  not  to  Mrs.  Blair's 
liking;  they  were  a  trifle  too  broad,  but  even  this 
was  minimized  by  the  woman's  graceful  use  of  them. 
The  appearance  of  the  coffee,  which  was  made  in 
a  device  that  Wayne  had  set  over  to  domestic  use 
from  the  Club,  brought  him  into  the  talk  with  his 
personal  apologies  for  the  absence  of  the  silver 
breakfast  service. 

"That  machine  isn't  so  formidable  as  it  looks. 
It  is  warranted  not  to  blow  up.  But  I  advise  you 
against  its  product,  Adelaide;  the  brew  is  as  fierce 


110  THE   LORDS   OF 

as  lye  and  will  shatter  the  strongest  nerves.  Father 
requires  water  in  his  —  about  one  hundred  per 
cent.  Please  don't  feel  obliged  to  use  that  trap 
if  you  don't  like  it." 

He  had  spoken  her  name  easily,  and  as  he  men 
tioned  it  she  lifted  her  head  from  the  cups  and 
smiled  at  him  with  a  little  nod.  Mrs.  Blair,  obser 
vant  of  everything,  could  not,  in  spite  of  the  smooth- 
flowing  talk,  forget  the  waste  areas  of  her  ignorance 
of  this  woman,  who  had  slipped  unchallenged  into 
her  mother's  old  place  at  the  table,  and  whom  she 
and  Wayne  were  endeavouring  to  please.  This  last 
point  touched  her  humour;  that  they,  with  their 
prior  claims  upon  their  father  and  the  house,  should 
be  trying  to  impress  the  new  wife  favourably  was 
to  Fanny  Blair's  mind  decidedly  funny. 

"I  suppose  our  severest  winter  weather  will 
hardly  equal  the  cold  you  have  been  used  to  in 
Vermont,"  she  remarked,  stirring  her  cup. 

"It  gets  very  cold  there,  but  it  is  bracing 
and  wholesome,"  replied  Adelaide,  meeting  Fanny's 
gaze.  "But  I  have  hardly  been  there  since  I  grew 
up.  Mama  found  she  couldn't  stand  the  climate 
about  the  time  I  needed  some  schooling,  so  we 
went  abroad,  and  you  know  how  easy  it  is  to  stay 
on  once  you  are  over  there.  Our  home  in  Vermont 
was  at  Burlington  —  you  know,  on  the  lake  ?  — 
and  the  winds  do  come  howling  terribly  down  from 
Canada!  It  is  lovely  in  summer,  though.  I'm  going 
to  take  your  father  up  there  next  summer,"  she  ended, 
smiling  at  her  husband,  who  gazed  at  her  fondly. 


HIGH  DECISION  111 

It  had  been  some  time  since  Mrs.  Blair  had 
heard  any  one  speak  of  taking  her  father  anywhere. 
Her  memory  pricked  her  at  once  with  the  recollec 
tion  that  in  her  mother's  lifetime  her  father  had 
yielded  reluctantly  to  all  pleas  for  vacations.  The 
children  had  usually  been  taken  away  by  their 
mother  —  sometimes  to  hotels  at  quiet  summer  places, 
at  other  times  to  houses  rented  for  the  season. 
Colonel  Craighill  did  not  always  like  the  places 
chosen  by  his  wife,  but  he  had  never  quarrelled 
with  her  plans  and  decisions  in  such  matters.  He 
liked  to  travel  and  fell  into  the  habit  of  an  annual 
trip  abroad,  going  usually  alone,  chiefly,  he  declared, 
for  the  sea  trip.  Now,  however,  Mrs.  Blair  reflected, 
everything  would  be  different. 

Breakfast  passed  smoothly,  and  they  lingered 
later  in  the  library.  Mrs.  Craighill  seemed  in  no 
awe  of  her  elderly  husband.  She  talked  more 
freely  now,  and  mentioned  many  foreign  places 
where  she  and  her  mother  had  lived  at  different 
periods.  Most  of  them  were  obscure  and  unfash 
ionable,  and  some  of  them  were  wholly  unknown 
to  Mrs.  Blair;  but  she  was  dimly  conscious  that 
there  was  cleverness  behind  this  careless  sketching 
of  the  leisurely  foreign  itinerary  pursued  by  this 
young  woman  and  her  widowed  mother.  At  the 
same  time  the  background  which  Mrs.  Craighill 
created  for  herself  was  shadowy;  against  it  she 
and  her  mother  were  as  unsubstantial  as  figures  on 
a  screen.  There  was  nothing  that  you  could  put 
your  hand  on.  Vermont,  to  Mrs.  Blair,  was  even 


THE   LORDS   OF 

more  remote  and  inaccessible  than  those  French 
and  German  towns  where  winters  and  summers 
had  been  spent  by  the  mother  and  daughter.  Mrs. 
Blair,  in  her  rapid  visualization  of  their  flights,  saw 
them  huddled  where  the  pension  charges  were 
lightest. 

Wayne  soon  called  for  his  runabout  and  went 
to  the  office,  as  his  father  had  announced  that  he 
would  remain  at  home  until  after  luncheon.  Wayne 
had  acted  becomingly,  to  his  father's  satisfaction 
and  to  his  sister's  great  relief.  Mrs.  Blair  was,  in 
fact,  quite  proud  of  him  as  he  said  good-bye  to  her 
and  stood  very  straight  and  tall  before  his  step 
mother  and  bade  her  good  morning.  He  bore  the 
stamp  of  breeding  —  she  had  never  felt  this  more 
than  now  —  and  he  could  be  relied  on  in  emer 
gencies. 

"Are  you  all  coming  over  to-night  —  the  children 
and  everybody?"  asked  Colonel  Craighill. 

"No;  you  must  have  your  first  dinner  alone," 
Mrs.  Blair  replied;  "but  to-morrow  night  you  are 
coming  to  us." 

"I  am  dining  with  Fanny  to-night,  so  you  will 
have  a  clean  sweep,"  said  Wayne,  in  conformity 
with  his  sister's  earlier  instructions. 

The  sensation  of  being  suddenly  established  as 
mistress  of  a  home  over  which  another  woman 
had  presided  for  twenty  years,  and  in  which 
she  has  borne  and  reared  children  and  died, 
was  to  be  Mrs.  Craighill's  fully  to-day.  Mrs. 
Blair  went  thoroughly  into  all  the  domestic  arrange- 


HIGH  DECISION  113 

ments  with  the  housekeeper  attending.  She  re 
vealed  the  repositories  of  linen,  the  moth-proof 
lodgments  for  woollen  fabrics,  the  secret  store 
houses  of  fruit  and  vegetables.  On  these  rounds 
Mrs.  Blair  evinced  a  sincere  desire  to  be  of  help. 
She  had  fortified  herself  against  heartache,  but 
there  were  things  that  hurt.  The  ineffaceable 
marks  of  her  mother's  forethought  and  labour 
were  wrought  into  the  deeper  history  of  the  house, 
and  could  never  be  understood  by  this  newcomer, 
who  laid  ignorant  hands  upon  the  ark  of  the  domestic 
covenant  and  yet  escaped  destruction. 

Several  times,  on  this  tour  of  inspection,  Colonel 
Craighill  spoke  his  first  wife's  name,  and  his  manner 
and  tone  gave  to  his  daughter's  sensitive  intelligence 
a  completer  idea  of  his  perfect  detachment  from 
the  earlier  tie.  She  felt  the  tightening  of  the  heart 
that  every  woman  feels  when  an  illustration  of 
man's  forgetfulness  strikes  close  home.  She  fore 
sees  at  once  her  own  replacement  by  another;  fickle 
flowers  of  remembrance  are  rusty  patches  on  her 
grave  where  the  winds  of  December  moan  forever. 
Fanny  Blair,  already,  by  this  prevision,  saw  herself 
forgotten  and  her  own  successor  entering  her  hus 
band's  door,  while  her  children,  unkempt  and  tearful, 
wailed  dolorously  before  the  gates  of  oblivion. 


CHAPTER  IX 

"HELP  ME  TO  BE  A  GOOD  WOMAN" 

WHEN  Wayne  returned  to  the  office  after  lunch 
eon  he  looked  in  upon  his  father,  who,  having 
cleared  his  desk  with  his  habitual  easy  dispatch, 
was  addressing  himself  to  the  consideration  of  new 
business.  Roger  Craighill's  desk  was  never  littered; 
a  few  sheets  of  figures  lay  before  him  as  he  glanced 
over  his  glasses  at  Wayne. 

"Sit  down  a  moment.  You  may  remember  that 
I  have  wanted,  for  several  years,  to  get  out  of  the 
jobbing  business.  Now  I  have  an  offer  for  it  that 
it  seems  best  to  accept.  Walsh  wishes  to  buy  it." 

"Walsh!"  exclaimed  Wayne. 

"I  was  surprised  that  he  should  want  to  leave 
us,"  Colonel  Craighill  continued. 

"I'm  rather  more  surprised  that  he  should  be 
able  to!"  said  Wayne,  who  saw  nothing  heinous  in 
Walsh's  wish  to  leave  the  office  if  he  could  do  better 
elsewhere.  It  was,  however,  quite  like  his  father 
to  express  amazement  that  a  valued  subordinate 
should  desert  his  standard.  Within  a  fortnight 
Wayne's  attitude  toward  his  father  had  unconsciously 
hardened;  what  once  had  been  fitful  rebellion  was 
now  stubborn  revolt.  In  his  heart,  Wayne  felt 
that  his  father  had  never  appreciated  Walsh,  and 

114 


THE   LORDS   OF  HIGH   DECISION    115 

he  hoped  now,  that  if  the  silent  lieutenant  left, 
the  loss  would  precipitate  the  breaking  down  of 
this  complacency,  this  perfect  self-confidence. 

"Walsh  has  made  a  fair  offer.  He  knows  the 
business  well  —  as  well,  practically,  as  I  myself. 
His  offer  is  based  on  the  last  invoice  to  which  he 
adds  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  for  the  name 
and  good  will  of  the  house.  The  capitalization 
is  just  as  your  grandfather  left  it.  Walsh  has 
owned,  for  a  number  of  years  you  remember,  ten 
shares  of  the  capital  stock.  You  and  I  together 
own  the  rest.  The  few  shares  held  by  men  in  the 
office  to  complete  the  organization  are  all  assigned 
to  us.  You  have,  if  you  remember  - 

"Twenty  shares,"  said  Wayne  promptly,  irritated 
that  his  father  was  assuming  that  he  would  not  know. 

"Quite  right.  You  own  twenty;  I  hold  sixty- 
five;  and  that  leaves  five  shares  held  by  the  clerks 
that  are  practically  mine.  I  take  it  for  granted  that 
you  will  wish  to  sell  your  holding  if  I  dispose  of  the 
controlling  interest." 

"No;  I  hardly  think  I  shall,"  replied  Wayne. 
"The  earnings  are  better  than  they  ever  were,  and  I 
shouldn't  know  where  to  do  so  well.  Besides," 
he  added  in  a  tone  that  caused  his  father  to  wince, 
"the  business  was  started  by  Grandfather  Wayne 
and  I  have  always  felt  that  I  owed  it  to  mother  to 
keep  my  interest  there.  I  suppose  the  corporate 
name  will  not  be  changed?" 

"I  had  assumed  it  would  not  be,"  replied  Colonel 
Craighill  smiling.  "It  is  a  part  of  the  assets!" 


116  THE   LORDS   OF 

"Certainly,  the  Wayne-Craighill  Company!  As 
I  am  both  a  Wayne  and  a  Craighill  I  prefer  to  stay 
in;  I  assume  you  don't  care  one  way  or  another.'* 

"On  the  other  hand,  I  am  glad  to  see  that  you 
have  a  mind  of  your  own  in  the  matter,  and  your 
feeling  about  your  grandfather,  the  founder  of  the 
house,  does  you  great  credit,  my  son.  It  pleases 
me  more  than  I  can  say.  I  should  not  be  retiring 
myself  if  this  were  not  in  line  with  my  plans  of 
several  years  for  concentrating  my  interests.  I  can 
use  this  money  to  better  advantage  elsewhere." 

He  did  not  explain  how  he  proposed  to  re-invest 
the  money  derived  from  the  sale  of  the  jobbing 
business,  and  Wayne  asked  no  questions.  A  number 
of  men  were  waiting,  as  usual,  to  see  Colonel  Craig- 
hill,  who  presently  took  up  several  cards  from  his 
desk  and  rang  for  the  office  boy  to  begin  admitting 
the  callers. 

Wayne  had  ordered  Joe  to  bring  down  his  runabout 
at  four  o'clock  and  for  half  an  hour  he  idled  as  he 
waited  in  his  own  office.  He  came  and  went  as  he 
liked  by  the  hall  door  in  his  room  so  that  the 
clerks  in  the  outer  office  never  knew  whether  he  was 
in  or  not. 

"Home,  Joe!"  and  he  sat  silently  pondering  until 
the  car  drew  up  at  his  father's  door.  As  he  hung 
up  his  coat  he  was  conscious  of  a  new  expectation, 
a  new  exhilaration.  His  heart  beat  fast  as  he  stood, 
listening  intently,  like  one  who  is  startled  by  an 
obscure  sound  in  a  lonely  house  and  waits  for  its 
recurrence.  He  had  gone  home  to  see  his  father's 


HIGH  DECISION  117 

wife;  he  had  gone  expecting  to  find  her  alone,  and 
he  peered  into  the  dim  drawing  room  guardedly 
as  though  fearful  of  detection.  A  clock  on  the 
stair  struck  the  half-hour  and  its  chime,  familiar 
from  childhood,  beat  upon  his  ears  jarringly,  and 
sent  confused  alarms  bounding  through  his  pulses. 
He  turned  into  the  library  and  there  the  thronging 
hosts  of  memory  that  the  scene  summoned,  steadied 
and  sobered  him  as  he  stood  within  the  portieres. 
Then,  as  he  swung  round  into  the  hall,  he  heard  a 
light  laugh  above,  and  Mrs.  Craighill  came  running 
down  to  meet  him.  Her  step  on  the  stair  was  noise 
less;  his  pictorial  sense  was  alive  to  the  grace  of 
her  swift  descent. 

"Home  so  soon!" 

She  put  out  her  hand  and  waited  at  the  foot  of 
the  stair.  A  rose-coloured  house-gown,  whose 
half-sleeves  disclosed  her  arms  from  the  elbow, 
seemed  to  diffuse  a  glow  about  her.  He  stood 
staring  and  unsmiling  where  her  laugh  had  first 
arrested  him  until  she  spoke  again. 

"I  didn't  know  I  was  so  forbidding  as  all  that!" 
she  said  and  walked  past  him  into  the  library.  She 
found  a  seat  and  he  threw  himself  into  a  chair  a 
little  distance  away  from  her.  They  looked  at  each 
other  intently,  he  grave  and  sullen,  she  smiling. 

"Well,  you  did  it!"  he  said  presently. 

"Please!" 

She  turned  with  her  lips  pouting  prettily  and 
glanced  over  her  shoulder.  "Please  be  nice  to  me!" 

"You  haven't  changed  your  tricks;  you  don't  have 


118  THE   LORDS   OF 

to  beg  admiration,  so  cut  it  all  out.     What  if  I  had 
stopped  it?" 

"Well,  you  didn't  —  though  I  gave  you  your 
chance." 

"You  needn't  give  me  credit  for  too  much  gener 
osity.  I  was  on  a  spree  and  didn't  get  your  letter 
until  the  trap  was  well  sprung,  and,  besides,  the 
name  threw  me  off.  It  was  only  when  the  Colonel 
showed  me  your  photograph,  carried  sacredly  in 
his  pocket,  that  I  knew  who  you  were.  How's 
your  dear  mama?" 

"For  once  in  her  life  I  think  she's  satisfied;  she's 
gone  abroad,  thank  heaven!" 

"Now  that  you're  fixed  I  suppose  she  will  do 
something  on  her  own  account.  She's  a  wonder, 
that  mother  of  yours." 

"Mama  has  her  ambitions,"  Mrs.  Craighill 
observed  pensively. 

"Her  greed,  you  mean.  How  did  you  get  on 
with  Fanny  this  morning?" 

"Your  sister's  a  dear!  I'm  quite  in  love  with 
her;  she  was  perfectly  lovely  to  me  — kind  as  could 
be  and  anxious  to  be  helpful.  I'm  already  very 
fond  of  her." 

"I  daresay  your  affections  will  include  the  whole 
family  before  you  get  through  with  us." 

This  meeting  was  not  to  his  taste.  He  had  taken 
advantage  of  the  first  opportunity  to  be  alone  with 
his  father's  wife,  and  now  that  they  were  together 
he  was  failing  to  give  the  right  tone  to  the  interview. 
It  was  proving  disagreeable  and  he  did  not  know 


HIGH  DECISION  119 

how  to  change  its  key.  It  irritated  him  to  find  that 
Mrs.  Craighill  was  calmly  giving  it  direction. 

:<  Wayne,  dear,"  she  said,  her  arm  thrown  over  the 
back  of  her  low  chair,  "you  came  home  to  see  me 
and  now  you  are  not  a  bit  nice." 

"I  came  home  because  it's  home,"  he  replied 
doggedly. 

"But  you  haven't  been  home  at  this  hour  within 
the  memory  of  anybody  on  the  place.  I  asked  the 
maids  —  very  discreetly -- what  time  Mr.  Wayne 
came  home  and  they  were  embarrassed.  You 
cut  the  Club  for  me  this  afternoon;  I'm  not  going 
to  have  it  any  other  way." 

He  rose  and  walked  the  length  of  the  room,  and 
when  he  had  gained  the  bay  window  he  looked 
back  at  her.  She  did  not  move  and  her  head,  the 
pretty  arch  of  her  neck,  the  graceful  lines  of  her 
figure  brought  him  quickly  to  her  side.  He  took 
her  hands  roughly  and  drew  her  to  her  feet. 

"Yes,  I  came  home  when  I  did  to  see  you  alone," 
he  cried  eagerly.  "You  knew  I  would  come;  you 
counted  on  it;  you  were  sure  of  it!" 

"What  a  mind  reader  you  are!"  she  laughed, 
looking  languidly  up  at  him. 

He  clasped  her  hands  in  both  his  own,  and  peered 
into  her  face.  Her  eyes  questioned  him  long;  they 
held  him  away  from  her  as  though  by  physical  force. 
Then  the  colour  surged  suddenly  in  her  face  and 
throat  as  he  bent  toward  her  lips  and  she  cried  out 
softly  and  freed  herself. 

"No!     No!     Not  like  that!" 


120  THE   LORDS   OF 

"There  is  no  other  way.  You  didn't  think  you 
could  come  here  and  begin  all  over  again  and  live 
under  the  same  roof  with  me  and  have  me  forget! 
I  tell  you  I  am  not  brass  or  wood!  No  woman  was 
ever  so  much  to  any  man  as  you  are  to  me.  If 
I  had  not  been  a  fool  you  would  have  belonged  to 
me;  and  now,  now  you  are  here  and  we  cannot  be 
less  to  each  other  than  we  were  once.  You  know 
that;  I  know  it!" 

She  was  looking  at  him  questioningly,  with  a  wide- 
eyed  gravity,  and  she  was  very  white.  She  lifted 
her  head  slightly,  as  though  by  the  act  summoning 
her  own  courage,  and  took  a  step  that  brought  her 
close  to  him;  she  laid  her  hands  on  his  shoulders. 

"  Wayne,  I  want  you  to  help  me  —  I  want  you  to 
help  me  to  be  a  good  woman." 

Her  pallour  had  deepened;  her  lips  trembled; 
the  tears  shone  in  her  eyes. 

;<Why  did  you  come  here?  If  you  wanted  my 
help  you  took  a  strange  way  of  getting  it.  It  strikes 
me  that  the  reason  you  came  is  something  that  we 
had  better  not  go  into." 

"That  is  not  like  you,  Wayne.  I  suppose  —  I 
suppose  —  it  would  not  occur  to  you  that  I  admire 
and  love  your  father;  that,  after  the  life  I  have  led, 
the  shelter  of  such  a  home  as  this  and  the  protection 
of  such  a  man  mean  more  than  I  know  how  to 
describe.  I  haven't  the  words  to  tell  you  what  it 
means!"  she  ended  with  a  little  moan,  and  then: 
"It  was  only  chance  that  threw  me  again  in  your 
way." 


HIGH  DECISION 

"I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  he  replied  harshly. 
"I  think  your  mother  must  have  chuckled  to  herself 
at  finding  that  she  could  catch  the  father  if  she 
couldn't  land  the  more  sophisticated  son.  She 
thought  she  was  taking  revenge  on  me.  Those 
are  nice  things  you  have"  -his  eye  swept  her 
gown  — "and  if  your  mother  has  gone  abroad  it's 
a  fair  assumption  that  she  tapped  the  Craighill 
till  pretty  soon  after  the  wedding  —  if  not  just 
before!" 

'You  have  no  right  to  make  such  insinuations. 
It's  infamous.  I  don't  intend  that  you  shall  insult 
me  under  this  roof." 

"Under   this   roof!"    he   mocked. 

"Oh,  I  understand  that  it's  yours;  that  when 
your  father  dies  it  will  belong  to  you;  but  while  he 
lives  it's  my  shelter,  it's  my  home;  the  first,  Wayne, 
that  I  ever  had." 

He  studied  her  with  a  puzzled  look  in  his  eyes. 
He  had  thought  he  knew  her;  that  out  of  his  earlier 
knowledge  he  could  readily  establish  a  new  tie. 
The  thought  of  this  had  filled  his  mind  from  the 
moment  he  had  recognized  her  photograph  at  his 
father's  table. 

"What  I  ask  you  for,  \Vayne,  what  I  beg  you  to 
give  me,  is  my  chance.  I  have  never  had  it  yet.  I 
have  been  hawked  about  and  offered  in  a  good 
many  markets.  I  might  have  been  married  to  you 
if  mama  had  not  counted  too  little  on  your  sanity 
and  tried  to  get  money  out  of  you  before  she  had 
you  well  hooked.  It  is  possible  that  I  was  a  little 


122  THE  LORDS   OF 

—  just  a  little  slow  at  the  game.  I  let  you  escape  — 
I  could  have  held  you  if  I  had  wanted  to  —  and  I 
suffered  for  it  afterward.  You  may  be  sure  she 
punished  me  for  that." 

"I  dare  say  she  did,"  he  muttered,  watching  her. 

"If  it  hadn't  been  that  I  really  cared  for  you, 
Wayne,  I  think  I  should  have  gone  ahead.  You 
thought  you  were  eluding  me;  the  fact  is  that  I 
precipitated  that  row  myself  to  give  you  your  chance 
to  get  away.  The  mater  wanted  to  follow  you 
into  the  courts;  I  stopped  that  by  burning  your 
letters  and  declining  to  give  any  aid." 

"Ha!  my  benefactress,  you  are  discovered!" 

"No,  that  is  not  the  tone  for  you  to  take  with  me, 
Wayne.  I  have  no  intention  of  asking  favours. 
I  think,"  and  she  pondered  gravely  as  though  anxious 
to  be  exact,  "I  believe  I  realize  the  enormity  of 
what  I  have  done  perfectly,  and  I  ask  forgiveness 
mercy,  kindness.  I  have  bought  my  freedom,  and 
I  want  to  be  sure  I  shall  have  it  —  and  peace.  Oh, 
peace,  decency;  to  stop  being  a  vagabond,  flung 
in  the  eyes  of  every  man  suspected  of  having  money! 
That  mother  of  mine  didn't  sell  me  at  the  last;  I 
made  the  bargain.  And  now  that  I  bear  your 
father's  name  I  am  not  going  to  dishonour  it;  I  am 
not  going  to  bring  any  cloud  upon  his  old  age,  no 
disgrace  and  no  shame.  There  is  no  nobler  man 
in  the  world  than  he  is,  and  as  far  as  I  can,  with  my 
poor,  miserable,  hideous  past,  and  my  poor  wits, 
I  am  going  to  try  to  live  up  to  him.  There  is  just 
that  one  prayer  in  my  heart  —  after  all  these  tempta- 


HIGH  DECISION  123 

lions,  and  heartache,  heartache,  heartache!  —  that 
I  may  be  a  good  woman  —  a  good  woman,  Wayne! 
What  a  wonderful  thing  it  would  be  if  I  could  — 
goodness,  with  peace!" 

Her  voice  was  low  and  failed  wholly  now  and 
then  and  he  found  himself  watching  her  lips  to  read 
the  words  that  his  ears  lost.  He  had  been  rejoicing 
in  the  thought  that  his  father  was  the  victim  of  a 
vulgar  connivance  between  an  avaricious  and  design 
ing  woman  and  a  willing  and  not  too  scrupulous 
daughter;  and  the  situation  was  one  which  he  had 
counted  upon  playing  with  in  his  own  fashion.  The 
gossamer  web  of  this  hope  now  fluttered  broken  on 
the  wind.  In  the  silence  that  followed  he  saw  for 
an  instant  the  ignoble  and  shameful  aspect  of  the 
thing  that  had  been  in  his  heart.  Then  a  new 
idea  flashed  upon  him;  it  was  base,  base  enough 
to  satisfy  even  this  stubborn  mood  in  which  Mrs. 
Craighill's  appeal  had  left  him.  He  felt  a  joy  in 
his  cunning;  his  heart  warmed  as  the  anger  and 
resentment  against  his  father  took  form  again. 
The  conquest  was  not  to  be  so  easy  as  he  had 
imagined,  but  it  would  be  all  the  sweeter  for  delay. 
Vengeance  for  wrongs  and  injustices  might  yet  be 
secured.  He  experienced  a  thrill  of  gratification 
that  his  mind  had  responded  to  this  need  in  defeat. 
His  imagination  built  up  a  new  tower  of  possi 
bilities  upon  a  fresh  foundation:  it  was  this  new 
wife  who  had  been  deceived  in  the  marriage,  not 
his  father!  He  would  gain  in  the  end  what  he 
sought  and  the  blow  at  his  father  should  lose  nothing 


124  THE   LORDS   OF 

of  its  force  when  strengthened  by  her  disappoint 
ment  and  humiliation.  It  was  inconceivable  that 
Roger  Craighill  would  ever  treat  the  woman  as  an 
equal;  that  there  could  ever  be  any  real  sympathy 
between  them.  With  all  the  zest  of  youth  in  her, 
and  with  her  love  of  life,  she  was  sure  to  seek  escape 
from  the  bleak  zone  he,  as  Roger  Craighill's  son, 
knew  well,  but  whose  far-lying  levels  she  now  saw 
rosy  with  promise. 

Mrs.  Craighill  had  not  looked  at  Wayne  through 
the  latter  part  of  her  recital  and  appeal;  but  she 
rose  now  and  turned  to  him  smilingly.  She  wore 
an  air,  indeed,  of  having  defined  an  unassailable 
position;  of  having  fully  mastered  its  defense,  with 
her  own  soul  supreme  in  the  citadel.  Her  confidence 
revealed  itself  in  her  voice  as  she  addressed  him; 
he  was  piqued  to  find  that  she  apparently  dismissed 
him  a  little  condescendingly,  as  though  their  future 
relations  were  established  on  a  basis  determined 
by  herself  and  that  there  was  no  question  of  main 
taining  them  there. 

"Good-bye,  Wayne,  I  must  run  along  now  to 
dress  for  dinner.  You  dine  with  Fanny,  don't  you  ? 
Please  tell  your  sister  how  much  I  appreciate  her 
kindness  this  morning;  and  I  am  grateful  for  yours, 
too,  Wayne!" 

He  rose  as  she  put  out  her  hand.  He  looked  at 
her  fixedly  as  though  her  identity  were  suddenly 
in  question.  Then  he  laughed  softly. 

"Good-bye,  Addie!" 

He  followed  her  into  the  hall.     She  did  not  look 


HIGH  DECISION  125 

back  at  him,  but  went  slowly  up  the  stair  with  a 
dignity  that  was  new  in  her.  It  was  as  though  she 
wore  her  new  wifehood  as  a  protecting  shield  and 
cloak. 

When  he  heard  her  door  close  he  went  up  to  his 
own  room. 


MR.    WALSH    MEETS   MRS.    CRAIGHILL 

WINGFIELD  was  mistaken  when  he  an 
nounced  at  the  Allequippa  Club,  apropos 
of  Walsh's  purchase  of  a  controlling  interest  in  the 
Wayne-Craighill  Company,  that  Roger  Craighill 
had  never  appreciated  Walsh's  services.  Colonel 
Craighill  not  only  valued  Walsh  highly,  but  he 
took  occasion  to  express,  in  a  statement  given  to 
the  newspapers,  his  "deep  sense  of  loss  upon  the 
retirement  of  my  faithful  chief  of  staff,  who  after 
years  of  painstaking  labour,  reaps  the  reward  of 
his  own  industry  and  fidelity."  More  than  this, 
Colonel  Craighill  made  Walsh's  passing  the  occa 
sion  for  a  dinner  to  all  the  employees  in  his  office 
and  to  the  managers  of  the  mines  and  coking 
plants  in  which  he  was  interested.  Walsh  was  thus 
used  as  an  illustration  of  the  qualities  that  make 
for  honourable  success.  This  banquet,  provided 
at  a  leading  hotel  toward  the  end  of  October,  was 
memorable  on  many  accounts,  and  not  least  for  the 
address  delivered  to  the  company  by  the  head  of 
the  table  —  an  utterance  marked  by  noble  senti 
ment  and  expressing  the  highest  ideals  of  con 
duct  in  commercial  life.  Wingfield  characterized 
this  somewhat  coarsely  as  "hot  air"  when  he 

126 


THE   LORDS   OF  HIGH  DECISION   127 

read  it  in  the  newspapers;  the  Colonel  was,  he 
averred,  the  Prince  of  the  Platitudinous. 

"The  Colonel  thinks  he  is  looking  through  the 
windows  of  his  soul  upon  Humanity,"  remarked 
Wingfield  to  a  shrewd,  skilful  occulist  with  whom 
he  shared  such  heresies;  "but  the  windows  of  his 
soul  are  all  mirrors."  But  Wingfield  was  almost 
the  only  man  in  town  who  refused  to  accept  Roger 
Craighill  at  rather  more  than  face  value. 

Wayne,  glancing  a  few  days  later  at  Mrs.  Blair's 
list  of  persons  to  be  invited  to  her  reception  in  their 
stepmother's  honour,  suggested  that  Walsh  ought 
to  be  asked. 

"Why  Walsh?"  asked  Mrs.  Blair  bluntly. 
"  When  I  pass  him  in  the  park  driving  his  beautiful 
horses  and  with  a  long  black  cigar  in  his  mouth, 
he  makes  me  shudder." 

;<When  he  takes  up  a  list  of  accounts  payable 
and  runs  his  eye  down  the  column,  all  the  people 
who  owe  money  anywhere  on  earth  shudder.  He's 
a  sphinx,  but  I  like  him.  He's  been  mighty  good 
to  me  and  if  you  don't  mind  I'll  say  that  he  will  be 
missed  at  the  office  more  than  the  Colonel  knows." 

"Oh,  tush,  Wayne!  Father  has  always  said  that 
no  man  is  indispensable,  and  he  wouldn't  have 
lost  Walsh  if  he  had  needed  him.  Father's  proud 
that  an  old  subordinate  can  go  out  of  the  office  into 
a  business  of  his  own." 

"Maybe,"  persisted  Wayne,  "maybe  Walsh  isn't 
the  subordinate." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 


128  THE  LORDS   OF 

"I  mean  that  Walsh  has  been,  far  more  than  the 
Colonel  knows,  the  deus  ex  machina  of  our  affairs. 
Father  has  not  known  the  details  of  his  various 
interests  for  years  —  not  since  I  went  into  the  office. 
He  sees  only  the  results  and,  thanks  to  Walsh,  they 
have  been  very  satisfactory.  When  there  was  a 
nasty  trip  to  take  in  a  hurry  to  head  off  a  strike,  or 
to  see  why  we  weren't  making  the  usual  tonnages, 
old  Walsh  slipped  out  of  town  and  looked  after  it 
without  a  word.  Father  thinks  he  did  it  all;  prob 
ably  thinks  it  honestly;  and  Walsh  let  him  think  it. 
That's  Walsh's  way.  When  father  went  out  in  his 
private  car  and  found  all  the  properties  in  bang-up 
shape  he  thought  he  was  looking  at  the  results  of 
his  own  management;  but  in  fact  Walsh's  eagle 
eye  and  iron  grip  had  done  the  real  work." 

'You  mustn't  talk  so  of  father,  Wayne;  you 
have  grown  bitter  toward  him  and  can't  judge  him 
fairly.  But  if  you  think  Mr.  Walsh  ought  to  be 
asked  to  the  reception  I'll  send  him  a  card.  There 
isn't  any  Mrs.  Walsh,  I  believe?" 

"No.  He's  married  happily  to  his  horses  and 
cigars.  Don't  take  this  too  hard;  Walsh  has  never 
manifested  any  interest  in  social  fusses  yet  and 
he'll  hardly  begin  now.  I  can't  see  him  in  a  dress 
suit!  He  won't  come  to  your  party  but  it  would 
be  decent  to  send  him  a  ticket." 

"Certainly,  Wayne;  not  because  Mr.  Walsh  has 
been  father's  brains  but  because  you  ask  it." 

"Oh,  never  mind  that!  Walsh  has  always  been 
bully  to  me.  I'm  keeping  my  stock  in  the  mer- 


HIGH   DECISION  129 

cantile  company  just  because  I  like  him.  When 
we  closed  that  deal  the  other  day  and  I  told  Tom 
I  was  going  to  hold  on  to  my  stock  he  came  as  near 
being  affected  as  I  suppose  is  possible  in  such  a 
hardy  old  plant.  The  name  of  the  corporation 
isn't  to  be  changed  and  he  said  he  hoped  I'd  come 
to  see  him  occasionally  to  help  his  credit.  He  was 
really  a  good  deal  tickled  over  it." 

The  Blair  house  lent  itself  well  to  large  enter 
tainments.  At  ten  o'clock  the  hostess  breathed 
a  sigh  of  relief,  knowing  that  her  party  was  a  success. 
The  representative  people  of  the  Greater  City 
were  there.  Men  and  women  who,  in  Mrs.  Blair's 
phrase,  "stood  for  something,"  had  passed  in 
review  before  Mrs.  Roger  Craighill.  Mrs.  Blair 
was  catholic-minded  in  social  matters.  The  wide 
advertisement  of  her  city  through  the  coarse  social 
exploits  of  some  of  her  citizens  during  the  Great  Pros 
perity  had  aroused  her  bitter  resentment,  and  she 
had  summoned  for  this  occasion  many  who,  able 
to  declare  themselves  guiltless  of  wealth,  proved 
in  their  own  lives  and  aspirations  that  something 
besides  vulgarity  and  greed  emerge  from  the  seething 
caldron  to  which  the  Greater  City  may  be  likened. 
It  was  Mrs.  Blair's  delight  to  discover,  and  as  far 
as  lay  in  her  power,  to  stimulate  and  reward  ambition 
in  the  arts  and  sciences.  She  had  promoted  the 
fortunes  of  a  long  line  of  young  physicians,  placing 
them  on  hospital  boards  and  sending  them  influential 
patients.  Poor  artists  were  sure  to  find  sitters 


130  THE  LORDS   OF 

if  she  took  them  up;  the  young  girl  seeking  coun 
tenances  to  immortalize  in  miniature  would,  if 
satisfactorily  weighed  in  Mrs.  Blair's  balance,  find 
herself  embarrassed  with  clients.  John  McCandless 
Blair  could  never  tell,  when  he  went  home  to  dinner, 
what  new  musical  genius  would  be  enthroned  in  the 
music  room --young  men  in  flowing  black  scarfs, 
or,  rather  more  delectable,  young  girls  of  just  the 
right  type  to  look  wrell  at  the  harp,  and  who,  no 
matter  what  strains  might  be  evoked  by  their  fingers, 
yet  possessed  in  the  requisite  degree  what  Mrs. 
Blair  capitalized  as  Soul. 

Mrs.  Blair's  reception  drew  a  wide  circle  within 
which  Mrs.  Craighill  made  the  acquaintance  of 
her  husband's  fellow-townsmen.  Curiosity  proved 
stronger  in  most  cases  than  fealty  to  the  dead,  even 
among  the  first  Mrs.  Craighill's  friends.  The 
obvious  answer  to  any  invidious  question  as  to  the 
wife's  previous  history  was  that  a  man  standing  as 
high  as  Colonel  Craighill,  and  as  careful  as  he  of 
his  honour  and  good  name,  was  unlikely  to  make 
a  marriage  that  would  jeopardize  his  position. 

There  were,  however,  absences  that  expressed 
the  resentment  of  certain  old  friends  of  the  family 
who  had,  in  Mrs.  Blair's  phrase,  "  taken  a  stand." 
These  were  fewer  than  Mrs.  Blair  had  hoped  for  but 
Mrs.  Wingfield  did  not  appear;  the  pastor  emeritus 
of  Memorial  Church,  a  gentleman  who  had  been 
favoured  by  fortune  and  was  in  no  wise  dependent 
on  Craighill  patronage,  had  declined  earlier  an  invita 
tion  to  dine  and  a  request  for  the  honour  of  his 


HIGH  DECISION  131 

presence  at  the  reception;  and  a  retired  general 
of  the  army,  who  sat  with  Roger  Craighill  among 
the  elders  of  Memorial,  not  only  scorned  these 
overtures  but  expressed  discreetly  his  feeling  that 
the  marriage  had  been  an  act  of  disloyalty  to  the 
Craighill  children.  There  were  not  more  than  half 
a  dozen  of  these  instances,  and  while  they  were  not, 
to  be  sure,  of  great  importance,  Mrs.  Blair  magnified 
their  significance  and  took  pains  to  thank  the  absen 
tees  later  for  their  attitude.  Dick  Wingfield.  keen 
in  such  matters,  found  upon  analysis  that  those  who, 
like  his  own  mother,  rejected  the  newcomer,  were 
persons  who  had  nothing  whatever  to  lose  by  incur 
ring  the  disfavour  of  Roger  Craighill.  His  mother 
was  rich  and  an  independent  spirit  if  ever  one 
existed;  the  old  minister's  income  could  not  be 
disturbed  by  Roger  Craighill  or  anyone  else;  the 
retired  general  had,  as  a  lieutenant,  invested  his 
scant  savings  in  Omaha  and  Seattle  town  lots,  and 
checks  from  Washington  were  only  an  incident  of  his 
income.  Nobody,  in  fact,  whom  Roger  Craighill  could 
possibly  reach,  no  one  likely  to  need  his  help  in  any 
way  whatever,  had  joined  in  this  tame  rebellion. 

Wingfield,  not  easily  astonished  by  anything, 
was  nevertheless  amazed  to  meet  Walsh  at  Mrs. 
Blair's  reception.  He  imagined  that  he  knew  Walsh 
pretty  well,  but  their  acquaintance  had  been  a  matter 
of  contact  at  the  Club,  warmed  into  friendliness 
during  a  period  in  which  Wingfield  had,  as  he  put 
it,  "affected  horse."  Wingfield  was  looking  for 
the  youngest  debutante  when  he  came  upon  Walsh 


132  THE   LORDS  OF 

stolidly  smoking  in  the  Blair  library.  Walsh  in  a 
white  waistcoat  was  something  new  under  the  sun. 
It  occurred  to  Wingfield  that  he  had  never  seen  him 
in  any  one's  house  before.  He  stopped  to  smoke 
a  cigarette  that  he  might,  if  possible,  analyze  Walsh's 
emotions  in  this  alien  air. 

"  So  you've  quit  the  Colonel  —  taken  over  the 
Wayne-Craighill  Company.  If  you  have  any  stock 
to  sell  I'd  like  to  have  a  slice.  I've  always  thought 
the  grocery  business  must  be  entertaining.  Its 
ethnological  relations  would  appeal  to  me.  I  under 
stand  that  these  people  who  pile  themselves  on  our 
social  dump  —  the  riff-raff  of  Europe  --  bring  their 
delectable  appetites  with  them,  and  that  your  cellars 
are  as  savoury  as  a  Chinese  stinkpot  with  the  bouquet 
of  finnan  haddie  and  such  epicurean  delights.  So 
Wayne's  going  to  stay  in,  is  he?" 

Walsh  took  the  cigar  from  his  mouth  and  nodded. 

'  Yes ;  Wayne's  vice-president  of  the  company  now." 

'That's  good.  You  and  I  are  the  only  people 
hereabouts  who  really  appreciate  Wayne.  There 
are  things  that  Wayne  can  do." 

Walsh  nodded  again.  He  settled  himself  back 
in  his  chair  comfortably  and  looked  at  Wingfield 
with  liking.  A  bronze  Buddha,  a  striking  item  of 
the  lares  and  penates  of  the  Blair  home,  gazed  down 
upon  them  benevolently. 

;<  Wayne,"  said  Walsh  deliberately,  "was  born 
to  be  a  man  of  power.  He  was  built  for  big 
transactions." 

Wingfield   was   surprised   into   silence.     He   had 


HIGH  DECISION  133 

never  before  heard  Walsh  express  himself  as  to 
the  character  of  any  man  and  there  was  something 
akin  to  heartiness  in  this  endorsement  of  Wayne 
Craighill.  Wingfield  forgot  his  quest  of  the  debu 
tante  in  his  eagerness  to  hear  the  inscrutable  Walsh's 
opinions.  Fearing  that  he  might  relapse  into  one 
of  the  silences  for  which  he  was  famous,  Wingfield 
applied  the  prod. 

"The  Colonel  never  understood  Wayne,"  he 
remarked  leadingly. 

"That  is  possible,"  replied  Walsh,  after  a  moment 
of  deliberation. 

"Wayne  could  do  anything  he  wanted  to --lead 
forlorn  hopes,  command  a  battleship,  preach  a 
sermon,  run  a  coal  mine,  or  sell  a  gold  brick.  The 
Scotch  in  him  is  pretty  sound  yet.  He's  a  free 
spender,  but  he  has  his  thrifty  side . 

"Um  --  yes.     Wayne  has  brains." 

"Why  don't  you  take  him  in  hand,  Walsh,  and 
teach  him  how  to  work?" 

After  a  prolonged  silence  Walsh  asked  dryly: 

"Why?" 

"Because  the  Colonel  has  failed  at  it." 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other  fixedly  for  a 
moment. 

"He  tried  hard  enough.  He's  disappointed  in 
Wayne." 

Walsh  spoke  as  though  he  were  repeating  an 
accepted  opinion  rather  than  voicing  his  own  thought. 
Wingfield  caught  him  up. 

"It  pleases  the  Colonel  to  think  that  he  possesses 


134  THE   LORDS   OF 

anything  as  well  authenticated  as  a  thankless  child. 
The  serpent's  tooth  tickles  the  Colonel's  vanity. 
Resignation  becomes  the  Colonel  like  a  pale  lavender 
necktie." 

"He  may  work  his  way  out.  Marriage  might 
help  him." 

"That's  not  so  easy.  A  bad  marriage  would 
send  him  clear  to  the  bottom.  You've  got  to  find 
a  particular  sort  of  girl  for  his  case." 

"I  agree  with  you.  The  girls  that  are  here 
to-night  —  the  pretty  daughters  of  best  families  — 
that  kind  would  be  no  good  for  him;  and  besides, 
they're  not  going  to  try  it.  Their  papas  and  mamas 
wouldn't  let  them  if  they  wanted  to." 

Wingfield  was  delighted  to  hear  these  expressions 
from  Walsh.  It  was  as  though  the  sphinx,  breaking 
the  silence  of  centuries,  had  suddenly  bent  down 
and  addressed  a  chance  traveller  on  the  topics  of 
the  day.  Walsh  spoke,  moreover,  with  the  quiet 
conviction  of  one  who  had  thought  deeply  on  the 
subject  under  discussion. 

'You  are  quite  right.  I  agree  with  you  fully!" 
declared  Wingfield,  anxious  to  hear  further  from 
Walsh.  "It  would  take  a  plucky  girl  to  tackle  Wayne." 

"Brains,  common  sense,  patience !  A  good,  sensible 
working-girl  would  be  my  choice." 

Walsh  stroked  his  bald  pate  with  his  hand,  and 
drew  deeply  upon  his  cigar.  Wingfield  was  ponder 
ing  Walsh's  words  carefully,  fully  appreciating  the 
flattery  of  the  old  fellow's  unwonted  loquacity. 

"How  are  we  going  to  find  her?" 


HIGH   DECISION  135 

"We  are  not  going  to  find  her.  Wayne's  a  lucky 
devil  —  such  fellows  are  usually  lucky  —  and  his 
future  must  take  care  of  itself." 

"So  our  prince  must  marry  a  pauper,  the  girl 
behind  the  glove  counter,  the  angel  whose  nimble 
digits  gambol  merrily  upon  the  typewriter,  the  low- 
voiced  houri  who  trifles  with  the  world's  good  nature 
in  the  telephone  exchange  ?  Wayne  is  fastidious.  How 
are  you  going  to  arrange  the  time  and  the  place  and 
the  loved  one  altogether?"  demanded  Wingfield. 

"I'm  not  a  fool,  Mr.  Wingfield;  I'm  not  going  to 
arrange  it  at  all !  I'd  look  pretty  in  the  matchmaking 
business,"  concluded  Walsh  grimly. 

"No;  I  guess  not,"  smiled  Wingfield;  but  he 
was  startled  by  Walsh's  next  statement,  delivered 
quietly  and  with  his  cigar  in  his  mouth. 

"I  could  hardly  qualify  as  an  expert  on  marriage, 
having  failed  at  it  myself." 

Walsh's  tone  forbade  inquiry.  He  had  opened 
a  door  into  some  dark  chamber  of  his  past,  then 
closed  it  tight  and  shot  the  bolt  back  into  place. 
He  rose,  clumsily  and  lumberingly,  and  dropped 
his  cigar  into  an  ash  tray.  The  long,  blank  surface 
of  his  bald  head  wrinkled  as  his  brows  lifted,  and  his 
eyes  widened  as  though  fixed  on  a  horizon  against 
which  he  had  glimpsed  the  familiar  outlines  of  some 
wave-washed  and  hopeless  argosy.  By  a  common 
impulse  the  men  clasped  hands  silently. 

"An  election  bet  or  what?"  cried  Mrs.  Blair  in 
the  doorway.  "With  all  the  trouble  there  is  about 
getting  men,  I  should  like  to  know  what  you  two 


136  THE  LORDS  OF 

mean  by  hobnobbing  here  by  yourselves.  I  shall 
punish  you  for  this,  Mr.  Walsh,  by  making  you 
take  me  in  to  supper." 

The  guests  were  being  served  in  the  dining 
room  and  in  the  hall  and  conservatory  adjoining. 
Mrs.  Blair  convoyed  Walsh  to  a  corner  where  Mrs. 
Craighill  was  seated  at  a  table  with  the  solidest  bank 
president  of  the  Greater  City.  This  person  was, 
however,  slightly  deaf,  and  as  Mrs.  Blair  rose  fre 
quently,  in  her  office  of  hostess,  to  assure  herself 
of  the  comfort  of  the  others  who  were  straying  in 
for  supper,  Walsh  found  opportunity  for  speech 
with  Mrs.  Craighill,  whom  he  had  observed  only 
passingly  in  the  drawing  room. 

"This  is  the  most  hospitable  place!  Everyone 
is  so  very  kind,"  murmured  Mrs.  Craighill. 

"I  suppose  so,"  replied  Walsh,  his  glance  falling 
upon  Roger  Craighill,  who  was  relating  an  anecdote 
to  a  circle  of  wrapt  listeners  near  by.  The  financier 
was  intent  upon  his  salad,  and  Mrs.  Craighill  gave 
her  whole  attention  to  Walsh. 

"  Colonel  Craighill  has  told  me  a  great  deal  about 
you,  Mr.  Walsh.  Let  me  see  what  it  was  that  he 
said --you  know  how  splendidly  he  puts  every 
thing —  he  said,  'Mr.  Walsh  is  a  born  trustee;  you 
can  trust  him  with  anything.'  : 

"Those  are  strong  words,"  said  Walsh,  meeting 
her  gaze  quietly. 

"But  you  are  leaving  him,  and  he  is  very  glad 
when  any  of  his  men  go  away  from  him  to  do  better 
for  themselves.  He  feels  that  it's  a  credit  to  him. 


HIGH  DECISION  137 

I  suppose  it's  like  the  pride  the  colleges  take  in  a 
successful  graduate.'* 

Here  obviously  was  an  opportunity  for  Walsh  to 
follow  her  line  of  thought  and  speak  in  praise  of  his 
alma  mater;  but  he  switched  the  subject  abruptly. 

'You  are  a  stranger  here,  Mrs.  Craighill?" 

'Yes,  I  was!  But  I'm  beginning  to  feel  at  home 
already.  I  suppose  it  will  take  me  years  to  learn 
everything  about  this  wonderful  city." 

"I  have  been  here  twenty-five  years  and  have  it 
all  to  learn  —  I  mean  this  sort  of  thing,"  and  Walsh 
glanced  about  as  though  to  broaden  into  generali 
zation  his  ignorance  of  society.  "This  is  the  first 
time  I  have  ever  crossed  a  threshold  in  this  town." 

"How  strange!"  He  was  even  more  difficult 
than  the  deaf  financier,  this  strange  old  fellow  with 
the  shiny  pate  and  unsmiling  countenance.  "But,'* 
she  laughed,  "I'm  going  to  take  this  as  personal  to 
me --your  coming  to-night!  You  won't  grudge 
me  the  belief  that  I'm  responsible  for  your  appear 
ance  —  your  first  appearance  —  if  you  really  mean 
me  to  believe  that  it  is  the  first!" 

"There  is  no  doubt  of  that.  It's  what  they  call 
my  debut.  I  came"  —and  he  smiled,  a  smile  that 
was  of  the  eyes  rather  than  the  thin  lips  —  "I  came 
for  that.  I  came  just  to  see  you." 

He  looked  at  her  so  fixedly  that  she  shrugged  her 
shoulders  and  turned  away.  This  might  be  the 
privilege  of  an  old  friend  of  her  husband,  but  his 
words  fell  harshly,  as  from  lips  unused  to  gracious 
speech.  Very  likely  he  was  an  eccentric  character, 


138  THE   LORDS   OF 

who,  from  his  own  statement,  was  ignorant  of  social 
usage.  His  keen  scrutiny  made  Mrs.  Craighill 
uncomfortable  for  a  moment. 

"Now  that  you  have  seen  me,  Mr.  Walsh,  please 
tell  me  your  verdict;  spare  nothing!" 

"I  think,"  said  Walsh  bluntly,  "that  you  are 
much  nicer  than  I  expected." 

He  was  trying  to  take  a  lump  of  sugar  for  his 
coffee  with  the  tongs,  but  his  hand  shook. 

"Fingers  were  made  first!  Allow  me!  You  are 
smoking  too  much  —  that's  the  answer,"  she  laughed. 
Walsh  was  annoyed  by  this  evidence  of  weakness, 
for  his  nerves  were  usually  steady,  and  he  was  vexed 
to  be  obliged  to  accept  her  help. 

"Horses  and  cigars  are  your  only  diversions,  I 
hear,  Mr.  Walsh." 

"Who  told  you  that?" 

"It  was  Wayne,  I  think." 

"Oh,  yes;  Wayne,"  repeated  Walsh,  as  though 
recalling  the  name  with  difficulty. 

"Wayne  and  you  are  great  friends." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  that  he  would  admit  it,"  and 
Walsh  smiled.  Mrs.  Craighill  reflected  that  there 
was  something  akin  to  tenderness  just  now  in  the 
face  of  this  curious  man. 

" Oh,  he  told  me  about  it!  He  spoke  of  you  much 
more  enthusiastically  than  Colonel  Craighill  did. 
It  was  not  that  Colonel  Craighill  didn't  say  every 
thing  that  was  kind;  but  with  Wayne,  it  was  as 
though-  -" 

"Well?" 


HIGH   DECISION  139 

"As  though  he  loved  you  —  there!" 

The  colour  deepened  in  Walsh's  weather-beaten 
face,  ruddy  at  all  times  from  the  park  air,  where  he 
drove  in  every  sort  of  weather;  even  his  bald  crown 
reddened.  He  was  undoubtedly  pleased;  but  he 
said,  with  an  effort  at  lightness: 

"That's  just  like  Wayne;  he's  a  great  joker." 

Mrs.  Blair  flashed  back  upon  them  now,  and 
charged  them  with  treasonable  confidences.  The 
old  banker  had  detached  himself  some  time  earlier  and 
joined  the  circle  which  Colonel  Craighill  was  address 
ing  in  his  semi-oratorical  key  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  room.  Mrs.  Craighill  and  Walsh,  having 
satisfied  their  own  imaginary  social  hunger,  remained 
with  Mrs.  Blair  while  she  had  her  coffee. 

;'You  must  come  up  and  see  the  dance.  All  the 
prettiest  girls  have  come.  You  must  go  up  to  the 
ballroom,  too,  Mr.  Walsh.  And  I'm  going  to  tell 
you  now,  for  fear  I  forget  it,  how  pleased  I  am  that 
you  came." 

"  You  were  kind  to  ask  me.  It  has  been  a  privilege 
to  meet  Mrs.  Craighill." 

Walsh  stood  up  abruptly,  bowed  with  a  quaint 
touch  of  manner  to  each  of  the  ladies,  pleaded  an 
engagement  down  town,  and  left  them. 

Mrs.  Craighill  was  surprised  to  find  herself  turning 
her  head  to  watch  his  burly  figure  through  the  door. 

Wayne,  roaming  the  house  restlessly,  drifted  into 
the  conservatory.  It  had  been  his  sister's  habit 
to  ignore  what  was  practically  ostracism  as  far  as 


140  THE   LORDS   OF 

he  was  concerned  socially.  She  realized  the  justice 
of  his  exclusion,  but  inwardly,  with  sisterly  fidelity, 
resented  it.  There  was  a  pathos  in  him  that  touched 
her;  and  as  she  saw  him  moving  about  alone,  or 
joining  some  group  where  size  minimized  the  danger 
of  contamination,  her  heart  ached  for  him.  Wayne, 
as  he  lounged  listlessly  in  the  dining  room  door, 
saw  Walsh  in  conversation  with  Mrs.  Craighill  a 
moment  before  Mrs.  Blair  rejoined  them.  Wayne 
stood  just  behind  his  father  and  several  of  Colonel 
Craighill's  auditors  looked  up  and  smiled,  but 
without  relaxing  their  attention. 

"You  young  people,"  Colonel  Craighill  was  saying, 
"can't  be  expected  to  love  this  town  of  ours  as  we 
old  folks  do,  who,  you  might  say,  fought  and  bled 
for  it.  Even  now,"  he  continued,  adjusting  his 
plate  carefully  upon  his  knee  and  lifting  his  eyes 
dreamily,  "the  Civil  War  period  is  as  remote  in  the 
minds  of  the  new  generation  as  the  Wars  of  the 
Roses." 

"Tell  us  a  war  story,  Colonel!"  cried  a  girl  in 
the  circle;  "something  really  terrible  —  of  how  you 
led  a  forlorn  hope,  the  flag  lifted  in  one  hand  and 
your  trusty  sword  in  another,  sprinting  right  over 
the  ramparts  at  Saratoga  or  The  Cowpens,  or  what 
ever  the  place  was  - 

Colonel  Craighill  joined  in  the  laugh  at  his  own 
expense,  and  appealed  to  the  group: 

"Doesn't  this  prove  what  I  was  saying?  You 
children  know  nothing  of  American  history.  I 
didn't  quite  come  over  with  Columbus,  Julia.  A 


HIGH  DECISION  141 

few  weeks  ago  I  was  talking  to  the  president  —  I 
hadn't  really  gone  to  Washington  for  the  purpose 
but  we  got  into  it  somehow 

Wingfield,  who  had  brought  the  prettiest  of  the 
debutantes  down  from  the  ballroom,  paused  a 
moment  to  catch  the  drift  of  the  Colonel's  story. 
He  was  bound  for  the  conservatory,  where  there 
were  opportunities  for  the  better  study  of  his  butter 
fly,  who  was  a  trifle  awed  by  the  attention  of  a 
grown  man,  one  who  had,  in  fact,  been  in  her  father's 
class  at  Pennsylvania.  Wayne,  with  something 
akin  to  a  grin  on  his  face,  turned  away  abruptly 
out  of  hearing  of  his  father's  voice,  nodded  to  Wing- 
field  and  passed  on.  His  friend,  with  the  careless 
ease  that  distinguished  him,  had  sighted  a  waiter 
and  two  chairs  in  a  far  corner  of  the  conservatory 
and  led  the  way  thither. 

"Did  you  hear  Julia  Morse  sting  the  Colonel?" 
he  asked  the  girl,  as  he  unfolded  his  napkin.  "I 
shall  have  to  look  her  up;  I've  done  her  a  cruel 
injustice.  I  supposed  Julia  was  a  stanch  subscriber 
to  the  Craighill  superstition,  but  she's  clearly  deeper 
than  I  imagined.  It's  odd  I  never  knew  Julia's 
true  worth;  I'm  annoyed  by  my  own  density.  The 
salad  —  yes!" 

"The  Craighill  superstition?"  asked  the  girl,  the 
knowledge  and  wisdom  of  Wingfield's  forty-three 
years  towering  over  her  youth  and  inexperience 
like  a  mighty  cliff. 

"Just  that  —  quite  that!  The  Colonel's  military 
greatness  ranks  with  the  ladder  superstition,  the 


142  THE   LORDS   OF 

Friday  superstition,  the  thirteen  at  table  superstition, 
and  all  those  things." 

"But  Colonel  Craighill  was  a  soldier  in  the  Civil 
War  —  of  course  not  in  the  Revolution,  I  know 
that." 

"Now  really,  if  you  won't  ever  say  I  told  you  — 
if  this  can  be  a  little  confidence  just  between  our 
selves  as  old  friends — I'll  tell  you  something.  The 
Colonel  was  never  a  real  colonel  at  all.  But  when 
General  Lee  started  for  Chicago  by  way  of  Gettys 
burg  in  the  summer  of  1863,  Pittsburg  was  terribly 
frightened,  so  the  old  folks  say  —  I  wasn't  here,  I 
assure  you! — and  Colonel  Craighill  bossed  the  men 
who  dug  entrenchments  around  the  city  to  keep  the 
Confederates  out.  He  did  it  well.  When  your 
father  and  I  were  kids  together  —  doesn't  it  seem 
absurd  that  you  and  I  can't  be  contemporaries, 
instead  ?  —  oh,  my,  please  forget  that  I  began  that 
sentence;  it  leads  clear  back  to  the  time  when  the 
Indians  camped  where  the  Craighill  building  stands. 

"  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  the  Colonel  was  only  a  sort 
of  home-guard  trench-digger  and  that  sort  of  thing. 
He  helped  the  women  manage  fairs  and  did  it  very 
prettily,  but  ever  since  the  WTar  the  Colonel's  stock 
as  a  red-handed  slayer  of  his  country's  foes  has 
been  rising.  He  ranks  with  Wellington  and  Grant, 
with  a  little  dash  of  Sheridan  thrown  in." 

"I  sit  behind  Colonel  Craighill  in  church  and  it 
doesn't  seem  possible  that  he  would  deceive  anyone," 
remarked  the  girl,  half  afraid  to  yield  to  her  delight 
in  these  profane  utterances. 


HIGH  DECISION  143 

"Ah!  but  he  deceives  himself;  he  really  believes 
that  he  held  up  the  pillars  of  the  Union  cause  and 
who  are  we  to  question  him?  And  he's  an  ardent 
if  cautious  reformer;  he'd  rather  cut  the  ten  com 
mandments  to  a  scant  six  than  mutilate  the  present 
tariff,  which  alone  is  holy  to  us  Pennsylvanians.  Do 
you  know,  this  salad  is  really  edible;  I  must  con 
gratulate  Mrs.  Blair  on  her  cook.  Of  course  we're 
to  see  you  everywhere  now.  Please  don't  be  running 
off  all  the  time;  it's  demoralizing.  If  we  good 
people  don't  stay  at  home,  what,  may  I  ask,  will 
become  of  Pittsburg?  We  produce  everything 
in  Pennsylvania,  as  you  may  have  noticed  —  every 
thing  but  local  pride!" 


CHAPTER  XI 

PADDOCK  DELIVERS  AN  INVITATION 

IT  WAS  remarked  by  the  clerical  staff  in  the  Craig- 
hill  offices  that  in  the  weeks  following  Walsh's 
removal  to  the  jobbing  house,  Wayne  was  unusually 
attentive  to  his  office  duties.  Clerks  in  the  habit  of 
leaving  reports  on  his  desk  found  themselves  ques 
tioned  in  regard  to  them  before  the  young  man  gave 
his  vise,  which  had  been  scrawled  carelessly  hereto 
fore  upon  anything  thrust  before  him.  It  should  not 
too  lightly  be  assumed  that  Wayne  had  experienced 
any  sudden  conversion  or  that  his  unwonted  dili 
gence  was  due  to  the  prickings  of  conscience;  but 
it  had  occurred  to  him,  at  the  passing  of  Walsh,  that 
he  really  knew  little  of  his  father's  affairs. 

Roger  Craighill's  reputation  for  business  ability 
was  solidly  established.  Until  it  became  the  fashion 
for  trust  companies  to  perform  such  services,  he  had 
often  been  chosen  to  administer  estates ;  but  in  keeping 
with  his  wish  to  give  more  time  to  public  service  he 
had  gradually  freed  himself  of  such  duties.  His 
marriage,  changing  necessarily  the  ultimate  dis 
tribution  of  his  estate,  had  piqued  Wayne's  curiosity 
as  to  his  father's  wealth.  His  long-gathering  resent 
ment  against  his  father  needed  facts  with  which  to 
fortify  and  strengthen  itself.  He  was  skeptical  as 

144 


THE  LORDS  OF  HIGH  DECISION   145 

to  all  of  his  father's  virtues  and  the  marriage  had 
demolished  his  confidence  in  his  father's  conserva 
tism  and  caution.  He  now  began  to  test  the  outward 
gilt  of  the  resplendent  statue  of  Roger  Craighill 
already  imaginably  set  up  by  admiring  fellow-citizens 
in  the  market  place.  He  had  only  the  vaguest  idea 
of  the  nature  of  contracts;  but  he  examined  a  great 
number  of  these  documents,  affecting  the  ownership 
and  control  of  properties  whose  titles  were  only 
names  to  him.  He  even  began  summarizing  and 
tabulating  these,  the  better  to  study  them.  His 
father,  as  of  old,  referred  to  him,  day  by  day, 
matters  whose  triviality  now  struck  him  with 
greater  force  than  before  in  view  of  his  growing 
grasp  of  affairs. 

Wayne  had  really  believed,  like  everyone  else, 
that  his  father  was  a  man  whose  fortune  entitled  him 
to  be  classed  with  comfortable  millionaires  —  not, 
indeed,  among  the  Pittsburg  collossi,  but  among 
the  eminently  solid  and  unspectacular  rich.  As 
he  pondered  his  computations  and  scanned  the  precis 
derived  from  them  he  reached  the  startling  conclusion 
that  his  father's  fortune  was  in  reality  a  huge  and 
unsupported  shell.  He  had  begun  studying  his 
father's  affairs  in  the  hope  of  finding  some  weapon 
which,  at  the  fitting  moment,  he  might  use  to  humili 
ate  this  proud  and  self-sufficient  parent,  who  had  been 
so  intolerant  of  his  sins  and  weaknesses.  Any  trifling 
error  or  some  badly  judged  investment  would  have 
served;  but  for  the  fact  that  his  curiosity  had  been 
awakened  in  the  beginning  as  to  the  amount  of  his 


146  THE  LORDS  OF 

father's  possessions  he  would  have  abandoned  his 
researches  long  before. 

It  was  now  perfectly  clear  that  Roger  Craighill  had 
ceased  to  be  a  factor  in  the  coal  and  iron  industries ; 
that  he  had  been  gradually  relinquishing  his  holdings 
in  the  substantial  enterprises  with  which  he  had 
earlier  been  identified  and  that  he  had  re-invested 
his  money  in  securities  of  little  or  no  standing  in 
the  market.  These  reflected,  Wayne  realized,  his 
father's  large,  imaginative  way  of  viewing  "world 
questions"  -  as  Colonel  Craighill  called  them.  For 
example,  his  faith  in  American  colonial  development 
was  represented  in  large  holdings  in  Philippine  and 
Porto  Rican  ventures  that  struck  Wayne  as  being 
properly  a  pendant  to  an  address  his  father  had  de 
livered  Somewhere  before  Something  on  "America's 
Duty  to  Her  Colonies." 

Wayne  had,  during  the  summer  of  nineteen  hun 
dred  and  seven,  given  little  heed  to  the  whispered 
rumours  of  approaching  panic.  The  Great  Pros 
perity  had  become  an  old  story,  and  pessimists  had 
predicted  its  termination  for  several  years  without 
shaking  faith  in  it.  On  Saturday,  the  twenty-sixth 
of  October,  business  closed  confidently;  before  Mon 
day  morning  a  mysterious  stifling  fog  had  stolen 
over  the  country.  It  did  not  seem  possible  that  any 
human  agency  could  have  so  thoroughly  diffused  the 
word  —  whatever  it  was  —  that  paralyzed  the  finan 
cial  energy  of  the  remotest  village,  for  it  was  paralysis, 
not  panic.  The  newspapers  ignored  the  situation 
and  suppressed  the  truth;  a  few  men  around 


HIGH   DECISION  147 

mahogany  director's  tables  alone  dealt  in  facts;  the 
rest  of  the  country  groped  among  rumours.  Money 
went  into  hiding;  banks  drew  the  curtains  over 
paying-tellers'  windows  and  calmly  declared  that 
there  was  no  cause  for  alarm.  Finance  whistled  in 
a  graveyard  and  every  one  pretended  that  nothing 
was  the  matter.  Colonel  Craighill,  astute  student  of 
affairs,  fed  the  journals  with  optimistic  statements 
affirming  the  perfect  security  of  the  national  glory 
as  proved  by  credible  statistics.  Everybody  was  rich, 
yet  nobody  had  any  money;  credits  were  never 
sounder,  but  nobody  could  borrow  a  cent.  The 
Great  Prosperity  had  been  followed  by  the  Great 
Scare  and  yet  there  was  no  panic  in  the  strict  sense 
of  the  term.  Colonel  Craighill  was  encouraged  by 
his  business  friends  to  talk  in  the  newspapers;  no 
one  else  was  so  plausible,  no  one  else  could  so  deftly 
enwreathe  the  smiling  brow  of  Mammon.  His  pro 
nouncements  soothed  the  fretful  and  put  to  shame 
those  dull  persons  who  had  been  disposed  to  question 
the  edicts  of  the  Mahogany  Tables.  If  Colonel 
Craighill  said  that  Finance  is  a  science  not  intended 
to  be  understanded  of  the  people,  it  must  be  so,  and 
mere  ignorant  mortals  did  well  not  to  bother  their 
poor  heads  about  it. 

Colonel  Craighill,  believing  firmly  that  merit  and 
length  of  tenure  should  be  favoured  in  promotions, 
had  installed  as  Walsh's  successor  an  accountant 
who  had  been  chief  book-keeper  in  the  office  for 
many  years.  Walsh  had  mildly  suggested  Wayne, 
but  Colonel  Craighill  rejected  the  recommendation. 


148  THE  LORDS   OF 

"The  suggestion  does  credit  to  your  kindness  of 
heart,  Walsh,  but  —  you  must  know  it  is  impossible." 

Paddock  called  on  Wayne  at  the  office  one 
afternoon  to  find  him  bending  studiously  over 
a  mass  of  papers.  Wayne  greeted  his  old  friend 
amiably. 

"Don't  be  afraid!     I'll  not  bite  you  this  time." 

He  cleared  a  chair  of  papers  and  bade  the  clergy 
man  make  himself  at  home. 

"I  won't  conceal  it  from  you,  old  man,  that  I  was 
in  bad  shape  that  night  you  came  in  on  me  here.  I 
saw  everything  red  —  not  pink,  but  a  bright  burning 
scarlet.  You  won't  mind  my  saying  it,  but  your 
call  was  deucedly  inopportune.  I  had  come  up  here 
with  my  tongue  hanging  out  to  drink  that  quart, 
and  to  be  caught  with  the  goods  on  by  a  gentleman  of 
the  cloth  annoyed  me.  I'll  not  spare  your  feelings 
in  the  matter!  And  then  you  looked  so  fresh  and  fit 
and  good  that  that  riled  me  too.  I  was  ashamed  of  it 
afterward  —  the  way  I  received  your  life  confession. 
And  the  bottle - 

"Did  you  eat  it?"  laughed  Paddock,  delighted  to 
find  his  old  friend  in  this  gay  humour. 

"I  told  you  I  was  going  to  the  bad  that  night,  and 
you  went  out  with  a  hurt  look  as  though  I  had  kicked 
your  dog  or  done  some  low  thing  of  that  sort.  Your 
tact  is  wholly  admirable.  If  you  had  said  one  word 
to  me  when  I  told  you  I  had  started  for  hell  I  should 
have  screamed  and  made  a  terrible  fuss.  Strong 
men  could  not  have  held  me.  You  went  away  and 
left  me,  by  which  token  I  know  you  possess  the  wis- 


HIGH   DECISION  149 

dom  of  serpents.  And  I  proceeded  at  once  to  get 
beautifully  drunk." 

Paddock  said  nothing,  but  smiled  sadly. 

"But  I  have  cut  it  out  now.  I  shall  look  no  more 
upon  the  rum  bottle  when  it's  red,  not  because  I  don't 
like  it,  but  because  I've  thought  of  much  more  dread 
ful  and  heinous  sins." 

"Then,"  said  Paddock,  not  understanding,  "I 
have  merely  stimulated  your  ambition  as  a  sinner." 

"That's  exactly  it.  There's  something  rather  con 
temptible  about  drunkenness.  A  man  of  education 
ought  to  do  worse  or  be  very,  very  good.  Well,  how 
goes  the  work?" 

"First  rate.  That's  what  I  came  in  to  see  you 
about.  I  want  you,  as  a  leading  citizen,  to  come 
and  look  at  my  plant." 

"  Certainly,  I'll  do  that  with  pleasure,  some  time, 
provided  your  real  design  isn't  to  show  me  off  as  an 
awful  example.  Mind  you,  I  don't  stand  for  that. 
At  any  rate,  I  was  brought  up  in  the  strict  letter  of 
the  Presbyterian  faith,  and  if  I  have  any  value 
as  an  example  of  what  shouldn't  be,  the  Presby 
terians  have  first  call.  It  would  be  low  down  in 
me  to  pose  for  you  Episcopalians,  who  are  a 
rival  body." 

"I  don't  want  you  to  pose  as  anything;  just  sit  on 
the  back  seat  and  watch  the  events  of  an  evening. 
The  hat  isn't  passed  —  no  sermon  —  maybe  a  song 
or  two,  but  you  don't  have  to  sing.  Your  chauffeur 
will  know  how  to  take  you  out;  he  quite  eclipses 
me.  His  batting  averages  make  him  a  marked  man ; 


150  THE   LORDS   OF 

his  record  of  strike-outs  his  last  season  on  the  diamond 
lifted  him  quite  out  of  the  back-lot  class." 

"Am  I  to  understand  that  Joe  Denny  has  fallen 
under  your  spell  and  frequents  the  parish  house  ? 
Well,  I  thought  he  was  sneaking  the  machine  out  at 
night  pretty  often,  but  I  didn't  give  him  credit  for 
anything  so  noble.  I  thought  it  was  somebody's 
housemaid." 

"He  says  he  can  pitch  with  his  left  hand  just  as 
well  as  with  his  right,  but  he's  passed  up  the  cheering 
diamond  out  of  devotion  to  you.  He  talks  about  you 
with  tears  in  his  eyes." 

"  He  takes  quite  the  paternal  attitude  toward  me  — 
looks  after  me  as  though  I  were  four  years  old.  The 
paternal  attitude,"  —  Wayne  repeated  musingly  — 
"  odd  phrase  that,  Paddock.  When  is  it  you  want  me 
to  come  to  your  joss-house?" 

"Why  not  to-night?  The  various  sections  are 
going  to  get  together  for  the  first  time,  and  it  will  be 
interesting  to  see  how  they  mix.  Jim  Balinski  of 
Altoona  will  do  a  sparring  stunt  with  Mike  the  motor- 
man  ;  songs  and  recitations  will  be  provided  and  the 
girls'  cooking  class  will  attend  to  the  refreshments. 
I  dare  you  to  do  better." 

"I'm  embarrassed,"  laughed  Wayne,  lacing  his 
fingers  behind  his  head  and  sprawling  out  in  his 
chair.  "I'm  due  to  sit  in  a  poker  game  to-night  with 
a  few  hardened  veterans;  but  your  programme 
appeals  to  me  as  more  wholesome.  I'll  come  as  long 
as  it's  you,  but  with  the  distinct  understanding  that 
you  don't  try  to  convert  me.  I'll  do  it  once  for  an 


HIGH   DECISION  151 

old  friend ;  our  friendship  will  suffer  if  it  ever  happens 
again.  But,"  and  he  drew  down  his  hands  and 
squared  himself  in  his  chair,  "but  how  about  all 
these  people  you  are  working  for  down  there? 
You  are  going  to  feed  them  on  cakes  and  ale  and 
make  them  dissatisfied,  so  that  they  will  march  into 
the  East  End  some  pleasant  evening  and  tear  the 
citizens  from  their  homes  and  decorate  the  trolley 
poles  with  them.  Your  mission  in  life  is  pretty, 
but  after  all,  Jimmy  Paddock,  can  you  stick  a  lever 
under  the  lower  stratum  of  society  and  lift  it  ?" 

He  struck  a  match  and  lighted  a  cigarette. 

"Let  me  see,"  replied  Paddock  soberly,  "whether 
I  can  explain  just  what  my  idea  really  is.  I  don't 
propose  to  lift  the  whole  mass  with  my  little  lever. 
It  seems  to  me  that  the  books  on  these  subjects  are 
just  a  lot  of  phrases.  I  don't  know  anything  about 
the  deep  philosophy  of  our  social  organization  —  I 
can't  understand  those  things.  I  haven't  the  brains 
to  debate  social  questions  with  people  who  don't  see 
them  my  way.  I  can't  talk  to  people  who  say  my 
kind  of  work  is  futile;  I  can't  discuss  it  with  them  or 
defend  my  idea,  for  two  reasons :  one  is  that  I  don't 
even  understand  their  phraseology;  and  the  other  is 
that  they  make  me  so  hot  that  I  want  to  beat  their 
brains  out  with  a  featherduster.  There,  you  see, 
old  man,  the  wild  Indian  in  me  isn't  all  dead  yet; 
I'm  far  from  being  a  saint.  I  don't  believe  that  even 
the  most  ignorant  and  depraved  are  going  to  be 
spoiled,  as  you  say,  by  being  treated  like  human 
beings.  I  don't  think  the  taste  of  cakes  and  ale  will 


152  THE   LORDS   OF 

send  them  up  into  the  East  End  to  kill  and  loot.  I 
may  be  mistaken,  but  I  believe  that  those  singed  and 
scorched  fellows  in  the  steel  mills  are  just  as  good  as 
I  am.  I  don't  recognize  class  distinctions.  I  posi 
tively  decline  to  allow  any  sociologist  to  classify  me 
and  pin  me  on  a  card  like  a  new  kind  of  flea.  But 
every  man  is  a  social  class  by  himself  as  I  look  at  it. 
I'm  not  big  enough  or  strong  enough  morally  or 
intellectually  to  try  to  pull  up  one  of  the  social  strata 
and  transplant  it ;  but  I  can  go  out  and  find  some  poor 
devil  who  is  down  on  his  luck  or  who  has  got  into  the 
gutter,  and  I  can  put  my  poor  individual  lever  under 
him  and  pull  for  all  I'm  worth  and  maybe,  by  the 
grace  of  God,  I  can  lift  him  up  a  little,  just  a  little 
bit.  Now,  you  think  I'm  crazy,  don't  you?" 

"  No,"  said  Wayne,  "not  in  the  least.  You're  worse ; 
you're  a  blooming  sentimentalist.  But  you're  a  good 
fellow  anyhow,  and  I  don't  think  you  ought  to  be 

discouraged.     I'd  like  to  contribute  "  and  he 

glanced  toward  a  check-book  that  lay  on  his  desk. 

"No  you  don't!"  cried  Paddock.  "I  don't  want 
your  money.  I  suppose  you  could  give  me  a  good- 
sized  sum  and  never  miss  it;  but  I  don't  want  that 
kind  of  money.  I  accept  contributions  not  as  a 
favour  to  me  but  as  a  favour  to  the  giver;  you  see, 
there's  a  large  difference.  The  richest  churchwarden 
in  Pittsburg  came  out  with  a  party  of  ladies  the 
other  Sunday.  He  sent  me  a  check  for  a  thousand 
dollars  the  next  day  and  advised  me  to  ventilate  my 
chapel;  he  didn't  like  the  smell  of  my  congregation. 
I  sent  him  back  his  check.  A  girl  who  works  in  a 


HIGH  DECISION  153 

laundry  for  six  dollars  a  week  offered  me  one  of  those 
dollars  to  help  pay  for  the  refreshments  to-night 
and  I  took  it!" 

"By  George,  you  have  it  bad!  I  suppose  the 
laundry  girl's  money  carried  with  it  the  idea  of 
purification.  I  do  wish  they  would  keep  chemicals 
out  of  my  shirts.  Perhaps  if  you  would  reason  with 
them,  Jimmy,  you  could  stop  the  havoc." 

"You  illustrate  the  individual  in  his  most  selfish 
aspect,"  laughed  the  minister.  "You  see  only  your 
own  torn  shirt.  Your  remedy  lies  not  with  the  girl 
but  with  her  employer.  You  tell  him  you  want  better 
work  and  that  unless  he  raises  the  wages  of  his 
employees  you'll  carry  your  shirts  elsewhere." 

"That  would  be  far  too  much  trouble;  it's  a  lot 
easier  to  buy  new  linen." 

"That's  the  secret  of  the  whole  situation  we're 
talking  about;  it's  easier  to  buy  a  new  shirt  than  to 
take  care  of  the  one  you've  got.  By  the  same  token 
it's  easier  to  wear  out  a  coal  miner  and  throw  him 
away  when  you  can't  use  him  any  longer  than  to 
preserve  the  men  who  are  digging  our  coal  to-day. 
They  all  go  on  the  rubbish  heap  —  they're  just  old 
scrap.  I've  been  up  in  the  anthracite  districts  where 
children  under  the  age  limit  are  employed  in  the 
breakers;  and  in  the  churches  of  the  towns  up  there 
men  devoutly  thank  God  every  Sunday  for  so  kindly 
putting  all  this  mineral  wealth  in  the  hills  of  the  State 
of  Pennsylvania  so  they  may  give  their  own  children 
comforts  and  luxuries  won  by  the  blackened  hands 
of  other  men's  children." 


154  THE  LORDS  OF  HIGH  DECISION 

"We  have  laws  that  cover  such  cases;  enforce  the 
laws.  I'm  for  that,"  said  Wayne. 

"But  we  don't  want  to  do  it  that  way!  We  must 
do  it  not  by  law  but  by  love,"  and  the  minister  smiled 
his  sad  smile. 

Wayne  laughed  and  threw  away  his  cigarette. 

;<  You're  a  mighty  good  fellow,  Jimmy  Paddock, 
but  you're  a  sentimentalist,  that's  all.  There  may 
be  some  of  that  in  me  down  underneath  somewhere, 
but  I  doubt  it.  Anyhow,  I'll  take  a  peep  at  your 
little  party  to-night;  I  dare  say  it  won't  do  me  any 
harm.'V 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  SHADOWS  AGAINST  THE  FLAME 

DO  I  know  the  place?  Sure!"  said  Joe  Denny 
when  Wayne  ordered  the  chauffeur  to  be 
ready  with  the  limousine  at  eight  o'clock.  The 
runabout  was  in  the  shop  and  the  limousine  was  a 
next  year's  model  that  Wayne  had  just  acquired. 
"He's  the  wonder,  this  Father  Jim." 

"What's  that?"  demanded  Wayne. 

"Father  Jim,  they  call  him  out  at  Ironstead.  Say, 
he  knows  how  to  put  the  boys  to  work." 

"What  line  of  study  have  you  tackled?" 

"  Me  study  ?  Say,  you're  not  on  to  me.  I'm  one 
of  the  professors." 

Wayne  glared  at  him  without  speaking  and  the 
former  ball  player  explained,  with  unmistakable  pride 
and  a  gradual  lapse  into  the  vernacular. 

"I'm  the  base-ball  professor.  We're  going  to  put 
up  a  nine  in  the  spring  that  will  make  anything  else 
look  sick  that  gets  in  front.  Say,  they're  good  people 
out  there.  It's  a  new  one  on  me,  that  kind  of 
religion ;  all  friendly  and  sociable-like,  and  the  strong, 
glad  hand.  He  don't  ask  you  to  sign  the  pledge  or 
come  to  church.  He  says  he  ain't  running  in  opposi 
tion  to  the  saloons,  he's  just  going  to  put  up  a  better 
show.  But  he's  made  a  deal  with  the  tank  joints. 

155 


156  THE   LORDS   OF 

He's  told  all  of  'em  that  if  they  sell  to  a  fellow  what's 
loaded  or  to  hurry-the-can  kids  he'll  prosecute  'em 
and  have  their  license  took  up.  He  goes  into  the 
saloons  and  talks  to  the  bosses  quite  confidential- 
like  and  tells  'em  he  doesn't  object  to  their  business 
as  such.  He  says  the  workin'  man's  entitled  to  sip 
his  suds  the  same  as  the  gents  in  the  Allequippa  Club ; 
but  the  bar-keep  ought  to  throw  out  any  man  that 
gets  loaded,  which  is  not  being  a  gent  any  more.  He 
talks  kind  o'  natural  and  reasonable,  like  he  had 
been  a  bar-keep  himself  some  time.  Say,  it's  a  sure 
thing  he  could  do  his  own  bouncin'  all  right.  There 
was  a  Roumanian  low-brow  out  there  who  cheered 
himself  with  alcohol  straight  and  went  over  to  the 
parish  house  to  clean  it  out.  He  butted  in  and 
kicked  open  the  door  where  the  geography  class  was 
learnin'  all  about  Afriky  where  the  niggers  and  monks 
come  from.  The  kids  in  the  night  school  skidooed 
for  the  home  plate,  seem'  the  fire  in  the  Roumanian's 
eye.  'This  is  a  hell  of  a  place,'  he  yells,  and  reached 
for  the  Father.  Father  Jim  caught  him  one  under 
the  ear  and  knocked  'im  over  a  big  globe  they  have 
out  there  to  find  the  North  Pole  on.  The  bum 
thought  the  earth  had  caved  in  on  'im  for  sure  and 
laid  on  his  back  bleatin'  like  a  sick  sheep.  Some  of 
the  kids  had  got  the  cops  and  when  they  chased  in  the 
Father  was  pourin'  ice  water  on  the  Roumanian, 
delicate-like.  *  We'll  give  him  about  six  months  for 
this,'  says  the  sergeant;  *  don't  bother,  Father,  to 
clean  him  up  —  he'll  come  to  in  the  wagon  all  right,5 
says  the  sergeant.  *  Sorry,  boys,  you've  been  put 


HIGH  DECISION  157 

to  the  trouble,'  says  Father  Jim,  settin'  the  earth  on 
its  right  end  again,  'but  my  friend  was  late  to  his 
lesson  to-night  and  came  in  so  fast  he  had  heart  fail 
ure,'  says  Father  Jim.  'Step  downstairs,  officers, 
and  the  night  cookin'  class  will  give  you  some  coffee,' 
says  Father  Jim.  And  if  he  didn't  put  the  slob  to 
sleep  in  his  own  bed  —  honest  to  God  he  did ! 

"And  listen,"  continued  Joe,  pleased  to  see  that 
Wayne  was  interested, "  the  gayest  that  happened  was 
about  old  Isidore,  the  Jew  ole-clothes  man,  who  had 
a  row  with  the  rabbi.  He  had  it  in  for  the  rabbi  good 
and  strong  and  he  got  a  pair  of  pig's  feet  and  slipped 
'em  under  the  rabbi's  chair  in  the  synagogue,  which 
was  against  the  religion,  and  oh,  my,  some  of  the 
members  of  that  church  got  after  Isidore  and  was 
goin'  to  make  'im  into  a  burnt  sacrifice  all  right.  But 
Father  Jim  hid  'im  in  the  cellar  at  the  parish  house 
and  went  to  square  it  with  the  rabbi.  You  might 
think,  them  not  bein'  members  of  the  same  church, 
and  viewin'  matters  quite  different,  they'd  give  each 
other  the  razzle;  but  Father  Jim  umpired  the  row 
all  right  and  Isidore  buys  his  meat  at  the  kosher 
shop  now,  which  is  proper,  Father  Jim  says,  him  bein' 
a  Jew,  which  is  a  great  race,  he  says.  Shall  I  crank 
the  buzz  wagon?" 

Guided  by  a  pillar  of  cloud  that  wavered  against 
the  stars  of  the  keen,  autumn  night,  the  motor  sped 
on  toward  Ironstead.  The  black  pall  was  lighted 
fitfully  by  fierce  gusts  of  flame;  golden  showers  of 
sparks  rose  ceaselessly,  fountain-like,  and  gave  a 
glory  and  charm  to  the  scene.  At  one  point  there 


158  THE   LORDS   OF 

fell  on  Wayne's  ears  the  mighty  cymbal-crash  of 
hammers,  now  ringing  clear  and  resonant,  and  lost 
again  in  a  moment  in  other  tumults  of  the  valley. 
The  spectacle,  the  sounds,  spoke  with  a  new  lang 
uage  to  his  imagination.  Here  was  the  most  stupen 
dous  thing  in  the  world,  this  forging  of  the  power  of 
the  hills  into  implements  and  structures  and  weapons 
for  man's  use.  The  steel  frames  of  towering  build 
ings,  the  ribs  of  swift  ships,  the  needle  that  sews 
the  finest  seam  —  these  were  all  born  of  this  uproar. 

Wayne  stood  up  in  the  motor  to  peer  upon  figures 
that  moved  about  in  a  glare  of  flame  as  though  on  a 
great  stage  set  for  a  fantastic  drama.  He  knew  the 
practical  side  of  these  smelting  and  forging  and 
riveting  processes;  but  it  suited  his  mood  to-night 
to  think  of  them  as  part  of  some  tremendous  phantas 
magoria.  He  singled  out  one  dark  Titan  as  the  chief 
actor,  and  named  him  Vulcan;  and  these  were  his 
slaves,  these  shadowy  shapes  that  swung  the  brim 
ming  crucibles  on  huge  cranes  or  manipulated  with 
ease  the  long  glowing  bars  that  might  have  been 
the  prop  and  stay  of  some  fiery-hearted  ^Etna. 
What  could  it  all  mean  to  these  hurrying,  leaping 
men,  the  discordant  hymn  of  the  hammers,  the  ter 
rible  heat,  the  infernal  beat  and  clash,  the  nerve- 
wracking  cry  of  the  saws  as  they  severed  the  hot  bars, 
the  venomous,  serpent-like  hissing  that  marked  the 
last  protest  of  the  rebellious  ore  against  these  tyrants 
who  had  wrested  it  from  earth's  jealous  treasuries. 

And  Joe,  sitting  unmoved,  with  his  hands  upon  the 
wheel,  turned  to  see  why  his  master  delayed.     Wayne 


HIGH   DECISION  159 

crouched  in  the  open  door  of  the  tonneau,  his  broad 
shoulders  filling  the  opening,  his  cap  on  the  back  of 
his  head,  gazing  upon  a  spectacle  with  which  he  had 
been  familiar  from  childhood;  but  to-night  it  took 
new  hold  of  him.  To  these  "singed  and  scorched'* 
beings,  the  shadows  against  the  flame,  Jim  Paddock 
was  giving  his  life. 

"Go  on,  Joe!"  he  shouted,  and  slammed  the  door. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

JEAN    MORLEY 

THE  parish  house  of  St.  Luke's  was  a  remodeled 
two-story  business  block  adjoining  the  frame 
church.  One  of  the  store-rooms  had  been  cut  in 
two,  half  of  it  serving  as  a  reading  room  for  men; 
the  rest  of  it  was  used  as  a  creche  where  young 
children  were  looked  after  at  hours  when  their 
mothers  were  too  busy  to  care  for  them.  The  other 
half  of  the  building  served  as  an  assembly  room 
on  occasions  and  here  the  exercises  of  the  evening 
were  already  in  progress  when  Wayne  arrived. 
At  one  end  of  the  room  a  ring  had  been  improvised 
and  within  the  roped  enclosure  a  string  quartet  was 
playing  a  waltz  to  which  the  feet  of  a  considerable 
portion  of  the  audience  kept  time.  The  place  was 
packed  and  Wayne  stood  until  the  end  of  the  number 
sandwiched  between  two  labourers  who  had  paused 
on  their  way  home.  Their  faces  were  still  grimy; 
their  dinner-pails  rubbed  Wayne's  legs  democrati 
cally.  A  prestidigitator  followed  the  quartet  with 
a  series  of  sleight-of-hand  tricks.  He  was  a  young 
Italian  and  was  warmly  applauded  by  represen 
tatives  of  his  race  in  the  audience.  A  young  woman 
sang  a  popular  ballad,  the  pastoral  note  of  whose 
refrain,  "In  the  woodland,  by  the  river,  I  await 

160 


THE   LORDS  OF  HIGH  DECISION    161 

my  love,  my  own,"  was  plaintively  incongruous  in 
the  place. 

Wayne  was  aware  of  an  undercurrent  of  excite 
ment,  especially  among  the  men  and  boys.  They 
were  on  their  good  behaviour,  but  the  tameness  of 
the  programme  had  begun  to  cloy.  A  recitation 
by  a  girl  in  pale  blue,  who  stood  in  painful  embar 
rassment  for  several  minutes  while  her  memory 
teased  her  afar  off  with  forgotten  rhymes,  elicited 
a  few  mutterings  of  disapproval.  Someone  on  the 
back  benches  cried,  during  a  long  and  seemingly 
endless  pause,  "Where  did  you  lose  it,  Minnie?" 
whereat  she  withdrew  in  tearful  confusion,  followed 
by  sympathetic  applause.  A  scuffle  in  the  rear 
caused  general  disorder  and  drew  attention  away 
from  the  platform.  The  brother  of  the  recitation- 
ist  was,  it  seemed,  trying  to  punch  the  head  of  the 
culprit  who  had  mocked  her.  Wayne  had  so  far 
seen  nothing  of  Paddock,  but  the  minister  now 
rose  near  the  scene  of  conflict  and  with  a  quiet 
word  subdued  the  belligerents.  A  young  man,  in 
a  necktie  of  violent  green,  who  appeared  to  be  the 
master  of  ceremonies,  leaped  to  the  stage  and  called 
for  order.  He  announced  that  the  literary  and 
musical  numbers  were  concluded.  "If  the  gents 
back  there  wot  wants  to  fight  will  ca'm  theirselves, 
we'll  give  'em  a  few  points  on  how  it's  done  by 
real  scrappers.  The  evenin's  stunts  will  close  with 
five  rounds  between  Jim  Balinski  of  Altoona,  and 
Mike,  the  motorman.  You  fellas  that  want  to  be 
noisy  better  get  out  now  or  be  chased  out." 


162  THE   LORDS  OF 

A  wild  cheer,  punctuated  by  cat-calls,  greeted 
the  two  boxers,  as,  clad  in  tights,  they  stepped 
nimbly  into  the  roped  enclosure  and  saluted  the 
admiring  audience.  A  howl  of  "Kill  the  Irishman" 
from  a  violent  partisan  was  drowned  in  groans  and 
shrieks  of  "Put  him  out"  in  four  languages.  At 
this  moment  Paddock  appeared,  divested  of  his 
coat  and  waistcoat,  gave  a  hitch  to  his  belt,  amid 
cheers,  examined  the  gloves  of  the  combatants  and 
admonished  them  as  to  the  rules.  Wayne  noted 
with  interest  that  Joe,  his  chauffeur,  was  time 
keeper,  with  a  dish-pan  and  stick  for  gong.  A 
hush  fell  upon  the  crowd  as  the  men  warily  began 
feeling  of  each  other.  The  round  ended  in  lively 
sparring  without  apparent  advantage  to  either  man. 
The  Irishman  was,  Wayne  learned  from  one  of 
his  neighbours,  a  member  of  Paddock's  own  class 
in  boxing  at  the  parish  house  and  sentiment 
seemed  to  favour  him.  The  second  round  was 
marked  by  clever  foot-work  by  the  Irishman,  who 
walked  round  the  Altoona  visitor  to  the  delight 
of  the  spectators.  In  the  third  and  fourth  rounds 
the  Irishman  continued  to  play  with  his  an 
tagonist,  who  doggedly  sought  an  opening  for  a 
heavy  blow.  He  landed  heavily  with  his  right 
several  times,  but  the  Irishman's  nimbleness  saved 
him  from  damage.  In  mere  cleverness,  the  local 
man  was  the  better  boxer,  a  fact  which  was  clear 
enough  to  his  adversary,  who  held  back  and  waited 
for  an  opportunity  to  break  through  the  Irishman's 
ready  guard  with  a  telling  blow.  The  strategic 


HIGH   DECISION  163 

moment  came  when,  in  the  last  round,  the  Irishman 
jumped  away  after  raining  half  a  dozen  blows  on  the 
enemy's  head,  and  grinned  his  satisfaction  amid 
laughter  and  howls  of  delight.  In  his  joy  of  the 
situation  he  made  a  gesture  that  indicated  his  com 
plete  confidence  in  the  fortune  of  battle  to  his  friends 
in  the  crowd,  and  his  insolence  was  promptly 
rewarded  by  a  telling  clip  in  the  face  that  brought 
him  blinking  to  his  knees. 

He  came  to  time,  however,  with  rage  in  his  eyes. 
Several  women  shrieked  at  the  sight  of  his  blood- 
smeared  nose  and  there  was  a  slight  commotion 
as  a  girl  near  the  door  was  led  out  to  faint.  "Kill 
'im,  Mike!"  roared  a  dozen  voices.  'You're  all 
right,  Altoona!"  yelled  a  lone  supporter  of  the 
visitor.  They  clinched,  but  the  Altoona  man  flung 
off  the  Irishman  with  ease.  "Knock  'im  out,  Mike!" 
chorused  the  motorman's  friends.  The  Irishman 
feinted  elaborately,  but  his  antagonist  sullenly  main 
tained  his  guard  and  waited.  The  time  was  short 
in  which  to  achieve  victory,  but  he  had  saved  himself 
for  a  supreme  effort.  The  Irishman  hit  him  a 
smart  clip  on  the  chin  that  staggered  him  for  a 
moment,  and  then  the  man  from  Altoona  drew 
back  and  gathered  himself  together.  He  swung 
his  arm  high,  as  though  it  had  been  a  hammer,  .and 
the  Irishman  cowered  under  it,  slipped  as  he  side 
stepped  and  the  Altoona  man,  striking  out  wildly, 
landed  in  a  heap  with  his  knees  in  the  Irish 
man's  face. 

The  male  portion  of  the  crowd  charged  the  stage 


164  THE  LORDS   OF 

with  a  roar.  Wayne  was  aware  that  Joe,  whose 
voice  had  occasionally  risen  above  the  tumult, 
seemed  now  to  be  trying  to  bring  order  out  of  the 
prevailing  chaos.  The  combatants  quickly  retired; 
Paddock  donned  his  coat  and  begged  all  to  remain 
for  refreshments,  which  were  further  announced  in 
the  odour  of  coffee  that  stole  up  from  the  basement. 
Many  to  whom  the  boxing  contest  had  been  the 
beginning  and  end  of  the  entertainment,  were  already 
crowding  into  the  street,  and  no  effort  was  made  to 
detain  them.  Half  the  benches  were  carried  out  under 
Joe's  direction  by  two  or  three  stalwart  young 
fellows  while  the  former  light  of  the  diamond,  filled 
with  the  pride  of  brief  authority,  watched  its  effect 
upon  Wayne,  who  was  somewhat  embarrassed  to 
know  what  to  do  with  himself.  Paddock  strolled 
about  addressing  a  few  words  to  everyone.  The 
colour  glowed  warmly  under  the  clergyman's  dark 
skin;  his  smile  was  less  sad  than  usual.  A  young 
man  dropped  the  plate  of  ice  cream  he  was  passing 
to  a  girl  and  Paddock  met  the  tragic  situation  by 
telling  a  story  of  a  similar  mishap  of  his  own. 

He  spoke  to  Wayne  last  of  all  and  drew  him 
into  a  group  of  half  a  dozen  saying,  "Young  friends, 
this  is  an  old  schoolmate  of  mine;  won't  you  make 
room  for  us?"  With  paper  napkins  on  their  knees 
he  and  Wayne  were  soon  taunting  each  other  with 
some  of  their  old-time  adventures,  while  the  listeners 
beamed  their  delight  at  the  intimate  quality  of  the 
colloquy.  Wayne  told  several  stories  about  Paddock 
that  were  listened  to  eagerly  by  the  little  circle. 


HIGH  DECISION  165 

The  girls  giggled;  the  young  men  laughed  aloud. 
Paddock  threw  in  a  word  here  and  there  to  elicit 
some  new  tale.  Wayne's  success  with  his  auditors 
stimulated  him;  the  circle  widened,  and  he  talked 
of  some  of  his  experiences  in  the  coal  mines 
during  the  year  of  his  probation,  using  colloquial 
phrases  of  the  men  underground  as  he  had  learned 
them  in  the  bituminous  mines.  The  simple  frocks 
of  the  girls;  their  red,  labour-scarred  hands;  these 
young  men  in  their  cheap,  ready-made  clothing;  the 
brassy  jewelry  worn  by  several  of  them,  touched  both 
his  humour  and  his  pity.  But  he  was  aware,  too,  that 
he  enjoyed  their  attention.  In  his  sister's  house  a 
few  nights  before,  among  people  of  his  own  order, 
no  such  experience  as  this  would  have  been  possible. 
He  rose  presently  at  the  climax  of  an  anecdote  that 
had  pleased  his  hearers  particularly. 

"Don't  hurry  away;  I  want  to  show  you  what 
we  have  here,"  said  Paddock.  "About  all  I  say 
for  it  is  that  it  is  clean  —  most  of  the  time.  In 
there  is  the  men's  reading-room;  a  table  for  writing, 
too.  Pipes,  you  notice,  are  not  discouraged." 

They  looked  in  where  a  dozen  men  of  all  ages 
sat  about  small  tables  reading  newspapers  and 
periodicals. 

"Some  of  these  old  fellows  are  as  regular  as  British 
Museum  readers.  Every  man  who  comes  here  can 
have  a  cup  of  coffee  and  a  sandwich  in  the  evening 
for  the  asking;  the  cooking  class  down  stairs  looks 
after  that.  I'm  putting  on  a  lot  of  foreign  news 
papers.  A  few  books  over  there  —  just  a  beginning. 


166  THE   LORDS   OF 

Anybody  can  take  a  book  home  by  writing  his  name 
on  a  card.  Bring  them  back?  Oh,  well,  what  if 
they  don't  ?  Down  below  is  the  kitchen  —  mind 
the  step !  —  the  building  was  in  bad  shape  when 
I  got  hold  of  it;  I'll  get  after  that  stairway  to-morrow. 
Here's  the  cooking  school;  about  twenty  girls  are 
taught  by  a  domestic  science  teacher  regularly.  A 
part  of  the  class  volunteered  to  provide  the  refresh 
ments  to-night.  That  coffee  wasn't  bad,  was  it?" 

At  the  foot  of  the  dark  stairway  they  emerged 
into  a  low  basement  whose  cleanliness  and  order 
were  at  once  apparent  even  to  the  lay  sense. 

"Don't  let  me  bore  you.  I  just  want  you  to  get 
a  bird's-eye  view.  This  plant  isn't  complete  yet  — 
we  have  only  the  essential  requirements;  the  frills 
will  come  later.  These  are  more  advanced  pupils; 
younger  girls  we  get  in  the  afternoons.  Rather 
remarkable  young  woman  over  there,  wiping  dishes. 
Came  out  last  Sunday  and  volunteered  to  help  in 
her  leisure.  I  must  speak  to  those  girls  a  minute." 

Wayne  followed  the  clergyman  through  the 
unfamiliar  apparatus  of  the  school  kitchen  to  the 
farther  end  of  the  room.  The  young  women  indi 
cated  were  evidently  enjoying  themselves  and  as 
the  two  men  approached  one  of  them  laughed 
happily  —  a  laugh  of  quality  that  drew  Wayne's 
attention  to  her.  He  stopped  suddenly,  seeing  that 
she  was  beyond  question  the  girl  he  had  met  in  the 
art  gallery;  there  was  no  mistaking  that  head  of 
hers!  Her  back  was  toward  the  door,  and  she  had 
not  heard  the  men  approach.  Her  laugh  rang  out 


HIGH  DECISION  167 

again  —  it  was  like  a  flash  of  water  down  a  hillside, 
or  any  other  bright  and  happy  thing.  She  turned, 
towel  and  cup  in  hand,  as  the  minister  greeted  her 
companion  and  introduced  Wayne. 

"This  is  Mr.  Craighill,  looking  for  a  model 
cooking  school,  and  he  knew  where  to  come!" 

"Oh,  Miss  Morley,  this  is  my  friend,  Mr.  Craig- 
hill.  He's  been  watching  our  show  upstairs.  I 
haven't  dared  ask  how  he  liked  it,  but  he's  a  judge 
of  coffee  and  he  drank  all  of  yours!" 

Paddock's  joy  in  his  work  shone  in  his  face;  he 
was  immensely  pleased  that  Wayne  had  given 
him  the  evening.  One  of  the  dish-washers  drew  him 
away  to  meet  a  newcomer,  and  Wayne  and  Miss 
Morley  regarded  each  other  gravely.  Her  arms 
were  bared  to  the  elbows;  she  held  a  half-dried 
cup  in  her  hands;  a  blue  check  apron  covered  her 
gown.  There  was  no  question  of  recognition;  both 
remembered  their  former  meeting.  Wayne  spoke 
at  once. 

"This  is  different  from  the  art  gallery.  I  was 
sorry  about  that.  You  were  quite  right  —  not  to 
want  to  know  me.  I  have  thought  about  that  after 
noon  a  good  deal." 

"I  have  thought  about  it  too,"  said  the  girl, 
"and  I  have  been  sorry  I  spoke  to  you  as  I  did.  I 
had  no  right  to  assume  that  you  did  not  mean  to  be 
kind.  I  shouldn't  have  stopped  to  talk  to  you  that 
afternoon  if  I  had  not  been  so  full  of  the  picture 
that  I  really  didn't  think  about  myself  —  or  you. 
The  portrait  seemed  somehow  to  make  it  right 


168  THE  LORDS   OF 

enough  in  the  first  place  —  it  all  seemed  impersonal. 
But  I  didn't  like  your  wanting  to  take  my  sketch." 

"You  didn't  like  it,"  said  Wayne,  "because  I 
am  who  I  am.  And  you  were  right.  I  have  thought 
of  it  since  and  you  were  quite  right.  I  am  glad 
to  have  this  chance  of  telling  you  so.  I  saw  you 
in  my  sister's  house  that  same  afternoon  and  I 
asked  her  who  you  were  and  she  would  not  tell  me 
-  you  see  I  am  a  very  bad  man,"  he  concluded, 
and  bowed  slightly,  looking  down  at  her  hands  that 
were  long  and  fine,  but  labour-roughened,  as  he 
had  seen  that  first  day. 

"I  didn't  know  you  were  interested  in  this  sort 
of  work,"  she  said,  so  obviously  wishing  to  be  kind 
that  he  smiled  as  their  eyes  met.  Her  crown  of 
dark  hair,  her  fair  skin,  her  splendid  blue  eyes 
with  their  mystical  gray  shadows  struck  him  anew. 

"I  can't  allow  you  to  be  deceived  about  me.  I 
was  never  here  before  or  in  any  such  place.  I  have 
heard  of  such  things,  and  haven't  approved  of  them. 
I  came  out  to-night  because  Mr.  Paddock  is  an 
old  friend." 

"He  is  wonderful;  I  came  to  a  service  last  Sunday 
out  of  curiosity;  I  had  never  seen  any  of  this  settle 
ment  work.  He  talked  to  the  people  as  though 
he  were  one  of  themselves  —  I  suppose  you  wouldn't 
call  it  preaching  at  all  —  and  it  is  easy  to  see  how 
they  all  love  him." 

"No  doubt  he  interests  them;  but  I  suppose 
we'll  have  to  judge  his  work  by  its  results,"  he 
ventured,  wishing  to  see  what  she  would  say. 


HIGH  DECISION  169 

"I  don't  agree  with  that,  Mr.  Craighill.  If  a 
man  has  the  heart  for  a  work  like  this,  that's  enough, 
isn't  it?  The  results  don't  matter." 

He  smiled  at  her  earnestness,  but  replied  gravely: 
"It's  a  good  deal;  it's  undoubtedly  a  whole  lot!" 
He  had  not  been  deeply  impressed  by  the  eve 
ning's  entertainment  as  a  moral  force.  It  seemed, 
in  fact,  a  far  cry  from  the  performances  of  Paddock's 
clumsy  amateurs  to  the  souls  of  the  spectators. 
The  reading  room  he  had  liked  better;  and  the 
cooking  school  was  well  enough,  though  it  was 
difficult  to  reconcile  any  of  it  with  his  earlier  knowl 
edge  of  Paddock.  He  did  not  quite  formulate  the 
idea  into  words,  but  he  was  unable  to  see  just  how 
Paddock  was  to  profit  by  these  labours;  nor  was 
he  persuaded  that  the  people  the  minister  served 
would  be  materially  benefited.  So  far  as  Paddock 
was  personally  concerned  he  could  join  heartily 
enough  in  the  girl's  admiration.  But  now  that 
chance  had  thrown  her  again  in  his  way,  he  wished 
to  make  the  most  of  it;  a  poor  art  student,  contrib 
uting  her  services  in  this  humble  fashion  to  the 
work  of  a  social  settlement,  was  a  new  species. 
She  must  be  an  unusual  young  woman  or  Fanny 
Blair  would  not  have  taken  her  up.  The  remem 
brance  of  her  sharp  rebuff  in  the  art  gallery  did  not 
make  it  easy  to  talk  to  her  now;  but  she  put  down 
her  cup  and  towel  and  addressed  him  with  a  direct 
ness  that  was  disquieting. 

"I  said  a  moment  ago  that  I  was  sorry  I  had  spoken 
to  you  in  the  way  I  did.  I  want  to  put  it  a  little 


170  THE   LORDS   OF 

differently  now.  It  troubled  me  afterward  —  I  felt 
that  I  had  been  unjust;  and  I  don't  think  we  ought 
to  feel  about  anybody  as  I  showed  I  felt  about  you 
—  as  though 

"As  though  being  an  infamous  sort  of  person 
decent  people  shrink  from  was  a  bar,"  he  supplied, 
curious  as  to  what  she  meant  to  say  further. 

"Well,"  she  continued,  "I  didn't  apply  to  you 
that  day  one  of  my  own  principles:  that  we  all  owe 
something  to  each  other  —  that  we  have  no  right 
to  hurt  anyone,  no  matter  who  it  is.  It's  what  I 
think  Mr.  Paddock  has  come  here  to  teach;  it's 
what  I  think  religion  is!" 

She  was  trying  to  apply  Paddock's  religion  to 
his  case,  and  her  sincerity  was  making  a  serious 
business  of  it.  It  was  an  odd  sensation,  this,  of 
talking  to  a  remarkably  handsome  young  woman 
who  frankly  wished  to  deal  with  him  in  the  light 
of  her  religion.  He  was  surprised  to  find  that  he 
felt  no  inclination  to  laugh  at  her;  she  interested 
him  immensely  and  he  was  sorry  when  Paddock 
returned  and  interrupted  their  interview. 

"I  thank  you,"  he  said;  "I  appreciate  your 
kindness  to  me." 

Paddock  carried  him  off  to  see  the  remainder 
of  the  house,  whose  facilities  he  hoped  to  augment 
by  purchasing  the  adjoining  property  and  adding 
a  swimming  pool. 

"I  think  I  like  the  cooking  school  best,"  observed 
Wayne,  "but  a  pool  would  be  a  valuable  addition; 
I  see  that.  If  you  bathe  the  flock  and  persuade 


HIGH  DECISION  171 

them  not  to  fry  their  food  you're  doing  a  lot  for  their 
bodies,  and  I  suppose  it  won't  hurt  their  souls  any." 

Paddock  opened  a  door  at  the  back  of  the  second 
floor  and  turned  on  the  electric  lights,  disclosing  a 
small  room  containing  an  iron  bed,  a  table,  a  shelf 
of  books,  a  desk  and  little  else. 

"Remember  that  cup?  Got  it  at  St.  John's  for 
sprinting.  You  were  second,  Craighill,  a  fact  which 
I  always  remember  with  satisfaction.  That's  the 
only  bit  of  ancient  memorabilia  that  I  lug  about  with 
me.  Those  were  the  good  times  of  the  consulship 
of  Plancus  all  right,  and  seeing  you  brings  them 
back  with  a  rush.  Off  here  is  a  little  special  indul 
gence  I  allow  myself --a  shower;  I  take  all  my 
ice  water  that  way.  But  let's  go  down  and  see 
what  they're  doing  below." 

Joe  had  put  the  assembly  room  in  order  and  stood 
by  the  door  discussing  baseball  with  a  group  of 
admiring  youngsters.  Paddock  had  carried  his  hat 
and  coat  to  the  assembly  room. 

"I'm  going  to  take  Miss  Morley  and  her  friend 
into  town.  Here  they  are  now." 

The  young  women  were  just  appearing  at  the  head 
of  the  basement  stairway.  Joe  crossed  the  room 
to  meet  Wayne. 

"Are  you  ready,  sir?" 

"Yes,  bring  the  car  up.  And,  Paddock,  if  you 
are  going  in  with  those  women,  I'll  take  you  all 
in  the  car;  there's  plenty  of  room." 

"Thank  you.  I'm  sure  we'll  be  grateful.  The 
trolleys  are  a  torture." 


172  THE   LORDS   OF 

Wayne  went  into  the  street  to  where  Joe  was 
lighting  the  car  lamps  at  the  curb,  leaving  Paddock 
to  repeat  his  invitation  to  the  young  women.  As 
he  returned  to  the  assembly  room  Miss  Morley 
met  him. 

"It's  kind  of  you  to  offer  to  take  us  in;  but  it's 
unnecessary  for  Mr.  Paddock  to  go.  He  means 
to  come  back  here  to-night  and  it's  a  hard  trip. 
After  what  I  said  to  you  that  day  at  the  Institute 
you  might  think  - 

'Yes,"  he  said,  fumbling  the  buttons  of  his  coat. 

"  Whatever  I  felt  that  day  I  don't  feel  any  more. 
And  I  don't  want  to  be  a  trouble  to  Mr.  Paddock." 

He  smiled  as  she  finished.  What  she  meant 
was  that  having  seen  him  in  this  place  and  having 
found  that  he  and  Paddock  wrere  friends,  she  could 
forgive  him  for  having  tried  to  flirt  with  her;  that 
his  visit  to  the  settlement  had  in  a  way  lightened 
the  burden  of  his  sins  and  made  their  acquain 
tance  possible. 

Paddock  saw  them  into  the  car,  not  sorry  to  be 
relieved  of  the  long  journey  into  town.  Wayne 
said  that  he  would  drive  himself,  and  when  Paddock 
had  bidden  the  young  women  good  night,  the  min 
ister  turned  and  shook  hands  with  Joe,  who  had 
been  making  sure  of  the  rear  light.  Wayne  leaned 
out  to  ask  him  what  was  the  matter  and  saw  Joe 
staring  into  the  car  with  an  odd  look  on  his  face. 
His  hand  went  to  his  cap  and  he  mumbled  some 
thing  which  the  noise  of  the  engine  drowned.  Then 
he  ran  round  and  jumped  to  the  vacant  seat  beside 


HIGH  DECISION  173 

Wayne,  where  he  crouched  in  silence  throughout 
the  journey.  Occasionally  Wayne  checked  the  car's 
speed  to  ask  the  chauffeur  the  way,  and  once 
Joe  jumped  out  to  investigate  an  ominous  change 
in  the  throb  of  the  engine;  but  Wayne  was  spared 
the  familiar  ironies  with  which  Joe  usually  criticized 
his  driving.  The  expression  of  Joe's  face  at  the 
car  door  and  this  subsequent  moody  silence  puzzled 
Wayne;  and  as  his  memory  sought  to  reconstruct 
in  all  its  trifling  details  his  encounter  with  Miss 
Morley  at  the  Institute  the  fact  that  he  had  after 
ward  seen  Joe  following  the  girl  through  the  dusk 
as  he  sat  with  Wingfield  pondering  the  orchestra's 
affairs  took  precedence  of  every  other  incident  of 
that  first  meeting.  He  heard  the  voices  of  the 
passengers  occasionally,  but  he  did  not  once  turn 
his  head.  He  was  trying,  for  almost  the  first  time, 
to  drive  the  car  carefully,  and  the  effort  began 
presently  to  vex  him. 

"You  take  it,  Joe,"  he  said. 

He  repeated  the  address  Miss  Morley  had  given 
him,  and  Joe  drove  to  it  without  comment,  a  board 
ing  house  in  an  unfashionable  quarter  at  the  edge 
of  that  anomalous  borderland  where  the  long  line 
of  dingy  shops  and  tenements  paused  a  little  non 
plussed  before  the  broad  open  area  in  which  cathedral 
spires  and  new  smart  dwellings  strove,  it  seemed,  to 
make  peace  with  art  and  music  as  enthroned  within 
the  solid  walls  of  the  Institute. 

Wayne  waited  on  the  steps  until  Miss  Morley  and 
her  companion  had  opened  the  door.  The  young 


174   THE   LORDS  OF  HIGH  DECISION 

women  expressed  their  thanks  cordially  in  the  flick 
ering  light  of  the  hall  lamp.  As  he  turned  back 
to  the  car,  the  voice  of  Miss  Morley's  friend  was 
flung  out  by  the  closing  door  —  "Jean!" 

Wayne  bade  Joe  drive  home,  and  shut  himself 
in  with  her  name. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A   LIGHT   SUPPER   FOR   TWO 

AS  WAYNE  entered  his  father's  house  he  saw 
JL\.  with  surprise  that  the  little  reception  parlour, 
adjoining  the  drawing  room,  which  was  usually 
dark  at  this  hour,  was  brilliantly  lighted.  His 
surprise  increased  as  Mrs.  Craighill  appeared  in  the 
door  and  gazed  at  him  without  speaking. 

"Well!"   he  said. 

"Well!"  she  returned. 

"Just  home  from  a  party,  are  you?  Where's 
father?" 

She  put  her  finger  to  her  lips,  and  indicated  the 
closed  library  door  with  a  slight  movement  of 
the  head. 

"He's  writing  a  speech  or  something.  He  had  a 
stenographer  come  up  right  after  dinner.  I  was 
de  trop,  so  I  have  been  waiting  all  this  time  for  you 
to  come  home  and  amuse  me.  And  you  are  very, 
very  late,  you  bad  boy." 

He  followed  her  into  the  reception  room,  a  place 
rendered  comfortless  by  the  decorator  and  furnisher, 
and  Mrs.  Craighill  resumed  her  seat  in  the  least 
forbidding  of  its  chairs.  She  suffered  Wayne  to 
mitigate  its  severe  lines  with  pillows. 

"There  are  better  loafing  places  in  the  house," 

175 


176  THE   LORDS   OF 

he  observed,  as  he  sat  down  opposite  her  and  felt  for 
his  cigarette  case. 

"No  smoking!  You  can't  get  it  out  of  these 
draperies." 

"You'll  have  to  this  time."  He  dropped  the 
match  stick  into  a  Sevres  urn  at  his  elbow  and  looked 
her  over. 

"The  Colonel's  been  at  it  ever  since  dinner?" 

"Since  eight-thirty  by  the  stair  clock." 

"You  might  have  gone  to  bed." 

"Oh,  yes,  there's  always  that;  but  it's  a  bore, 
going  to  bed  right  after  dinner.  I've  never  been 
used  to  it.  And  besides,  you  never  can  tell:  I 
might  have  been  needed ;  the  door  might  have  swung 
open  at  any  minute  and  a  demand  made  for  a  date 
-  at  just  what  hour  George  crossed  the  Delaware, 
and  whether  it  was  real  or  stage  ice  they  put  into 
history  so  the  Father  of  his  Country  would  look  well 
lithographed  in  the  boat  with  his  cloak  pulled  round 
his  shoulders." 

"You  needn't  trouble  about  being  called  in  for 
consultation.  When  the  oration  is  all  done  you 
will  be  given  a  chance  to  attend  a  dress  rehearsal 
—  or  two  of  them.  I  used  to  hear  those  things ; 
but  now  you've  cut  me  out." 

This  was  the  first  time  since  the  afternoon  of  her 
arrival  that  Wayne  had  seen  his  stepmother  alone. 
He  had,  in  fact,  seen  little  of  her.  They  met  usually 
at  the  breakfast  table,  but  Wayne  was  never  home 
at  midday  and  as  often  as  not  he  dined  at  the  Club. 
A  series  of  dinners  and  receptions  in  her  honour  had 


HIGH  DECISION  177 

engaged  Mrs.  Craighill's  attention;  her  coming 
had  forced  the  season  and  these  functions  were 
now  lagging.  Her  presentation  to  the  society  of 
the  Greater  City  had,  however,  been  accomplished; 
and  she  was  now  woven  into  the  social  fabric,  one 
of  its  bright  figures,  discernible  to  any  eye.  She 
was  Mrs.  Craighill,  a  sufficient  answer  to  any  inquiry. 
She  had  met  nearly  every  one  it  was  necessary  to 
meet;  even  the  small  band  of  recalcitrants  who  had 
sworn  that  she  should  never  cross  their  thresholds 
had  sat  with  her  at  other  people's  tables,  and  taken 
her  hand  at  larger  functions  whose  charging  bat 
talions  were  recruited  from  the  blue-book. 

"What  have  you  been  doing?"  she  asked,  after  a 
moment. 

"I'm  afraid  to  tell  you;  you  would  never  believe 
it  of  me.  I've  been  out  to  Ironstead  seeing  how 
the  other  half  amuses  itself  in  my  old  friend  Pad 
dock's  parish  house.  There  was  a  boxing-match; 
a  girl  recited  'Curfew  Shall  Not  Ring  To-night,' 
or  enough  of  it,  then  a  social  mix-up  with  ice  cream 
and  coffee." 

"Something  new,  isn't  it,  your  going  in  for  that 
sort  of  thing?" 

"Rather  a  new  shot;  but  not  so  tiresome  as  you 
might  imagine.  As  a  social  diversion  it  would 
compare  favourably  with  shows  I've  attended  in 
this  neighbourhood." 

"I've  met  Mr.  Paddock;  I'm  on  the  Children's 
Hospital  committee  with  him.  You  see,  as  Mrs. 
Craighill  I'm  ex-officio  —  is  that  right  ?  —  in  a  lot 


178  THE   LORDS   OF 

of  things  already.  I'd  rather  prefer  to  wait  a  little 
and  be  recognized  on  my  own  merits,  but  then " 

"Maybe  they're  afraid  to  wait  for  your  merits 
to  disclose  themselves,"  he  suggested. 

"Please  don't  say  unkind  things  to  me.  I'm 
likely  to  cry." 

"Don't  do  that.  Tears  wouldn't  add  anything  to 
the  effect  of  that  gown;  it's  one  of  the  most  perfect 
things  I  have  ever  seen  you  wear." 

"It  isn't  bad,  is  it?"  she  rose  with  sudden  anima 
tion  and  took  a  turn  across  the  room,  looking  over 
her  shoulder  at  her  shadow  in  a  long  mirror. 

"It's  charming.  There's  no  denying  that  there's 
something  very  nice  about  you,  Addie.  You  know 
how  to  wear  your  clothes;  this  matronly  air  you've 
been  cultivating  —  the  much-married  look,  isn't 
wholly  to  my  taste,  but  you'll  do.  What's  that 
you've  been  reading?" 

He  stooped  and  picked  up  what  appeared  to  be 
a  magazine  in  a  linen  cover,  stamped  with  gold 
letters.  She  caught  at  it,  but  he  held  it  away  and 
opened  upon  several  hundred  sheets  of  typewritten 
manuscript  neatly  bound  into  the  case. 

He  flung  it  aside,  laughing  aloud. 

"The  Colonel's  speeches!  Lord,  Addie,  do  you 
think  you  have  to  do  it?" 

She  had  coloured,  but  manifested  no  resentment 
at  his  tone. 

"He  asked  me  if  I  didn't  want  to  read  some  of 
his  things,  and  wrhat  was  the  answer?" 

"Yes;  what  was  it?     It's  taking  a  mean  advan- 


HIGH  DECISION  179 

tage  though!  It  was  fitting  that  you  should  come 
in  here  to  read  those  orations;  they're  like  the 
furniture  —  lines  of  austerest  grace,  with  a  little 
gilt  stuck  on  here  and  there.  You  must  have  had 
a  roaring  time  of  it." 

"Oh,  I  haven't  done  so  badly!"  She  produced 
a  novel  and  tapped  the  cover  significantly.  "I 
really  haven't  felt  called  on  to  commit  all  the  speeches 
to  memory.  You  wouldn't  suggest  that,  would 

you?" 

"I  shouldn't  exclude  that  from  the  parental 
expectations.  It  would  undoubtedly  boost  you  in 
the  Colonel's  regard.  It  would  show  a  becoming 
interest  in  his  affairs.  A  man  of  ideals  must  have  a 
sympathetic  wife." 

"He's  locked  up  with  his  ideals,  which  are  prob 
ably  quite  beyond  me  —  and  I'm  outside  the  door," 
she  concluded  plaintively. 

"That's  wholly  complimentary.  You  are  dis 
tracting  —  never  more  so  than  now.  You  affect 
my  own  ideals  pleasantly.  It  was  always  so.  I 
wonder  what  would  have  happened  if --well,  if 
your  dear  mother  hadn't  been  so  obviously  and 
beastly  grasping." 

He  had  not  expected  it  to  come  so  soon,  this 
change  —  this  appeal,  this  cry,  faint  though  it  was, 
of  distress.  His  eyes  brightened  as  he  watched  her. 
A  black  velvet  band  clasped  her  throat  and  a  diamond 
twinkled  in  a  pendant  that  swung  from  it  by  a  tiny 
chain.  The  line  from  her  brow,  with  the  brown 
hair  rising  abruptly  above  it,  to  her  fair  throat,  could 


180  THE   LORDS   OF 

not  have  been  improved  upon.  Though  he  had 
never  thought  of  her  as  common  or  vulgar,  in  his 
assay  she  had  never  been  of  standard  weight  and 
fineness;  she  had  been  offered  at  too  many  prices 
in  too  many  markets,  and  he  was  not  sure  yet  how 
much  alloy  lay  under  the  bright  surface.  On  the 
day  of  her  home-coming  he  had  mistakenly  expected 
to  find  her  ready  to  meet  him  on  his  own  terms,  but 
she  had  rebuffed  him.  He  had  felt  that  she  must 
share  in  time  his  own  contempt  for  his  father;  he 
had  been  content  to  wait  for  that,  and  he  felt  that 
he  had  not  waited  in  vain.  To-night,  with  only  a 
month  of  married  life  behind  her,  she  had  a  grievance; 
she  was  bored,  and  eager  for  sympathy.  Her 
youth  and  prettiness,  her  charm,  of  which  she  was 
not  ignorant,  meant  as  little  to  her  elderly  husband 
as  moonlight  to  strong,  deep-flowing  waters.  Like 
a  troublesome  child  she  had,  in  effect,  been  told  to 
sit  in  a  corner  outside  the  door  while  her  husband 
gave  heed  to  important  matters  writhin.  It  was 
inevitable  that  Wayne,  by  reason  of  their  old 
acquaintance,  and  with  the  same  roof  sheltering 
them,  should  be  her  chief  dependence  in  unhappy 
hours. 

She  had  gathered  herself  with  an  effort  and 
frowned;  but  a  smile  played  about  her  lips,  and 
she  bent  her  head  with  a  becoming  grace. 

"I  thought  I  asked  you  not  to  think  of  that.  We 
buried  all  that  that  first  afternoon." 

"I'm  not  so  sure  we  buried  it.  The  ghost  of  it 
still  walks!" 


HIGH  DECISION  181 

"It  had  no  ghost;  it  was  too  dead  for  that." 

"If  it  had  been  dead-    -" 

"Well,  what  would  have  happened?"  she  asked, 
bending  toward  him,  her  elbow  on  her  knee,  her 
chin  in  her  palm,  as  was  her  way. 

"For  one  thing,  you  wouldn't  have  sat  here  all 
evening  in  this  hideous,  stiff  room.  You  have  a 
comfortable  sitting  room  upstairs  where  you  could 
have  taken  your  ease  while  the  Colonel  prepared  his 
oration." 

"I  don't  believe  I  understand,"  she  said.  "You 
know  I  am  a  very  dull  person,  Wayne;  I  am  not 
a  bit  —  what  do  you  call  it? — subtle?" 

*  You're  a  mighty  pretty  woman;  there's  no 
doubt  of  that.  And  knowing  I  think  so  and  would 
be  likely  to  mention  it,  you  stayed  down  here  to  be 
sure  not  to  miss  me  when  I  came  home." 

"Please  don't  speak  to  me  like  that;  it  is  not 
what  I  expected  of  you.  I  told  you  when  I  came 
here  that  I  meant  to  be  very,  very  good.  More 
than  that,  I  asked  you  to  help  me.  I  threw  myself 
on  your  mercy!" 

The  tears  were  bright  in  her  eyes  and  she  leaned 
back  and  turned  her  face  away  from  him. 

He  rose  with  a  laugh. 

"For  heaven's  sake,  don't  cry!  It's  bad  for  the 
complexion.  Let's  dig  in  the  pantry  for  something 
to  eat." 

"  Splendid ! "  she  cried,  jumping  up. 

He  tried  to  take  her  hand,  but  she  brushed  by 
him  and  ran  toward  the  dining  room,  where  she 


182  THE  LORDS  OF 

bade  him  turn  on  the  lights  and  wait  while  she 
foraged. 

"Stay  right  here,  please!  I  will  bring  the  things 
myself;  don't  expect  too  much,  but  I  think  —  I  think 
there  will  be  cold  chicken." 

"The  strong  drink  is  usually  kept  locked  —  you 
must  have  the  key." 

"Nothing  but  milk,  or  distilled  water!  You 
may  have  either.  You  wait  here  —  it  would  look 
better." 

She  pursed  her  lips  and  bent  her  head  with  the 
slightest  of  inclinations  toward  the  library. 

When  he  heard  her  at  the  swinging  pantry  door 
a  moment  later  he  sprang  up  and  flung  it  open. 
She  carried  a  fowl  and  bread,  and  told  him  he  might 
fetch  knives  and  forks  and  other  essentials  of  their 
feast.  She  was  in  a  laughing  mood  now,  and  in 
the  midst  of  their  preparations,  she  ran  to  the  hall 
door  and  listened,  like  a  child  about  to  ravish  the 
jam  pots.  The  grace  of  her  slight  figure,  her  pretty 
way  of  catching  up  her  skirts,  the  mockery  of  her 
anxiety  lest  they  be  discovered,  brought  them  into 
a  new  and  delightful  intimacy. 

"Do  you  remember?"  asked  Wayne,  crossing 
his  legs  at  ease  and  nibbling  the  sandwich  she  had 
made  for  him,  "do  you  remember  our  little  picnic 
on  the  rocks  up  there  at  Struby's  Cove,  when  we 
got  lost  on  the  drive  home  ?  There  was  chicken 
then  —  perhaps  it  was  a  distant  cousin  of  this  one. 
All  chickens  are  sacred  henceforth!" 

"And  there  was  a  new  moon  and  the  wind  blew 


HIGH   DECISION  183 

in  cold  from  the  sea  and  the  pine  grove  by  the  shore 
was  dark  and  sad." 

"And  I  kissed  you  that  night  —  the  first  time!" 
She  was  serious  instantly  and  held  up  her  hand 
warningly. 

"Don't  be  naughty;  that  was  a  long  time  ago!" 
"Two  years   last  August,   which  is   not   so  very 
long!" 

"Long  enough  to  be  forgotten,  though." 
"I   am   not   in   the   habit   of   forgetting   pleasant 
things.     You  were  a  being  to  worship  that  night." 

'Your  worship  was  pretty  short;  you  took  that 
Philadelphia  widow  driving  the  next  day." 
"But  we  didn't  have  a  picnic  and  get  lost." 
"Decidedly  not,  as  she  was  from  Philadelphia!" 
And   they  laughed  softly,   in    the    subdued   key   of 
their  talk. 

A  little  later  Colonel  Craighill  was  heard  at  the 
library  door  bidding  the  stenographer  good  night. 
Mrs.  Craighill  rose,  clutching  her  plate  and  glass. 

"Service  was  for  one  only,"  she  whispered,  and 
on  this  hint  Wayne  restored  her  chair  to  its  place 
against  the  wall,  and  with  a  little  nod,  a  shrug  of 
her  shoulders,  a  pretty  lifting  of  the  brows,  she 
vanished  through  the  pantry  door  and  took  flight 
upward  by  way  of  the  back  stairs.  Wayne  heard 
the  click  of  the  buttons  in  the  hall  as  his  father  turned 
off  the  lights,  and  a  moment  later  Colonel  Craighill 
appeared  at  the  door  with  a  handful  of  papers. 

"You  up,  WTayne?  I  thought  a  burglar  was 
entertaining  himself.  I  really  believe  I'm  hungry, 


184  THE   LORDS   OF 

too.  I've  delayed  writing  a  statement  I  was  asked 
to  prepare  of  the  educational  conditions  of  the  South, 
and  there  was  a  lot  of  statistical  matter  to  go  over. 
I  think  I  have  it  the  way  I  want  it  though." 

He  stretched  himself  at  ease  in  a  chair,  wrhile 
Wayne  brought  a  plate  and  cut  him  a  slice  of  the  fowl. 

"  What  have  you  been  up  to  to-night  ?" 

"I  went  out  to  Ironstead  to  a  show  at  Paddock's 
parish  house." 

Colonel  Craighill's  face  expressed  surprise  and 
pleasure. 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  it;  Paddock's  a  good  man  for 
you  to  cultivate." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  about  that!"  said  Wayne, 
instantly  resentful.  "I'm  not  sure  but  he's  a  dan 
gerous  character." 

"No  man  who  gives  his  life  for  the  good  of  man 
kind  can  be  any  other  than  a  useful  member  of 
society." 

"I  suppose  that's  so,  but  if  Paddock  should  lead 
his  ragged  legion  in  an  attack  on  the  banks  down 
town  and  raid  the  shops  it  would  be  less  admirable." 

"We  must  take  a  hopeful  view  of  society;  every 
school-house  in  the  land  is  an  outpost  of  democratic 
ideals,"  declared  Colonel  Craighill  impressively, 
plucking,  Wayne  guessed,  a  phrase  from  the  address 
he  had  been  preparing. 

"Here  at  home  we're  going  to  need  a  good  many 
school-houses  to  knock  the  spirit  of  democracy  into 
the  riff-raff  of  Europe.  When  do  you  go  away 
again  ?" 


HIGH   DECISION  185 

"Oh,  not  till  early  in  December,  when  I  go  to 
Boston  for  the  conference  of  the  Municipal  Service 
League.  Adelaide  will  go  with  me." 

"I  have  intended  speaking  to  you  about  one  or 
two  matters.  Since  Walsh  left  I've  been  going 
over  all  our  affairs." 

Colonel  Craighill  stared  at  his  son  in  frank 
surprise. 

'You  have  been  checking  over  the  securities? 
If  you  had  asked  me  I  could  have  saved  you  a  good 
deal  of  bother.  I  have  them  all  tabulated  so  that 
their  salient  features  can  be  seen  at  a  glance  of 
the  eye." 

'Yes;  I  have  a  copy  of  your  synopsis  and  have 
been  checking  it." 

"I  have  had  that  done  from  time  to  time  so  that 
it  has  been  kept  up  to  date.  I'm  glad,  however, 
that  you  are  taking  an  interest  in  these  matters." 

"The  whole  story  is  not  told  in  your  list,"  said 
Wayne,  ignoring  his  father's  approval. 

"Very  likely;  only  the  more  important  items  are 
noted." 

"In  the  case  of  that  Gregory  property  you  put 
into  the  Sand  Creek  combination,  Gregory  maintains 
that  he  has  a  claim  —  I  don't  quite  understand 
what  it  is.  He's  a  hard  one  to  get  anything  out  of." 

"I  don't  recall  just  the  terms  of  that  arrangement, 
but  the  old  fellow's  become  a  great  nuisance.  The 
whole  Sand  Creek  field  used  to  be  covered  with 
shafts  sunk  by  small  operators  who  were  killing 
each  other  by  preposterous  competition.  When 


186  THE   LORDS   OF 

we  organized  the  Sand  Creek  Company  and  took 
them  all  over,  we  were  obliged  to  shut  down  two- 
thirds  of  the  old  shafts  to  make  anything  out  of  any 
of  them.  As  I  remember,  I  made  the  deal  with 
Gregory  myself,  more  out  of  kindness  to  him  than 
anything  else.  I  had  known  him  many  years  and 
he  had  been  unfortunate.  It  has  always  been  my 
policy  to  deal  generously  with  such  cases.  The 
vein  through  his  acreage  is  poor,  the  coal  inferior 
and  with  many  ugly  faults  in  it." 

"But  there's  a  lower  vein  that  is  all  right.  I 
found  the  engineer's  report  with  an  estimate  of  the 
amount  of  coal  in  his  hundred  acres." 

"Well,  it's  a  matter  we  must  look  into.  We'll 
take  it  up  before  the  end  of  the  year.  There's 
never  any  use  in  being  in  a  hurry  about  such  things. 
I  have  always  remembered  what  your  grandfather 
Wayne  said  to  an  anxious  young  real  estate  agent 
once,  in  your  grandfather's  old  age.  The  young 
man  was  trying  to  sell  your  grandfather  a  lot  down 
town  somewhere  and  became  offensively  persistent. 
One  day  your  grandfather  turned  round  on  him 
and  said  —  the  thing  impressed  me,  for  your  grand 
father  was  exceedingly  wise:  'Young  man,  I  have 
never  made  any  money  by  being  in  a  hurry.'  I 
have  thought  of  that  remark  a  thousand  times!" 

"I  remember  with  equal  distinctness,"  said  Wayne, 
smiling  a  trifle,  "that  once  when  grandfather  was 
teaching  me  to  play  checkers  he  said  never  to  imagine 
that  the  other  fellow  in  any  game  was  a  fool." 

"Quite  characteristic;  he  had  almost  Emerson's 


HIGH  DECISION  187 

way  of  shooting  into  the  bull's  eye.  I  wish  there 
were  more  men  like  Andrew  Wayne;  he  was  faithful 
in  all  his  obligations,  a  man  of  absolute  exactness 
in  all  his  dealings.  I  used  to  hope  you  had  inherited 
some  of  his  traits." 

Colonel  Craighill's  eye  rested  on  the  glass  of  water 
which  stood  by  his  son's  plate.  The  significance 
of  the  glance  was  not  wasted  on  Wayne.  With  an 
almost  imperceptible  movement  he  pushed  the  glass 
away  from  him. 

'You  have  been  very  regular  at  the  office  lately: 
I  want  you  to  know  that  I  have  noticed  it,  and  that 
it  has  pleased  me  very  much  —  very  greatly  indeed. 
I  have  sometimes  wondered,  Wayne,  whether  Dick 
Wlngfield's  influence  has  been  the  best  for  you. 
I'm  afraid  he  doesn't  take  life  very  seriously.  With 
his  intelligence  and  leisure  he  might  be  of  great  help 
in  our  reform  work." 

"Dick's  interested  in  the  fine  arts  and  not  in 
politics.  I'm  sorry  you  don't  approve  of  him;  he's 
the  best  friend  I've  ever  had.  He's  the  only  man 
in  town  who  hasn't  kicked  me  at  some  time  or  other. 
I  probably  need  kicking,  but  it's  nice  to  know  there's 
one  human  being  who  withholds  his  foot." 

"You  will  find,  if  you  follow  your  present  course, 
and  practice  sobriety  and  industry,  that  you  will 
not  lack  friends." 

"I  suppose  so,  but  it's  the  sinner  that  needs  friends, 
not  the  saint.  But  in  this  Gregory  matter  —  if 
you  are  going  to  be  gone  next  week  - 

"I'll  write  to  Gregory  and  tell  him  to  come  in 


188  THE   LORDS   OF 

later  on  and  we'll  talk  over  his  case.  He's  always 
appreciated  the  fact  that  I  took  care  of  him  at  the 
time  we  formed  the  Sand  Creek  Company.  I'll 
fix  that  up  with  him;  he'll  have  to  be  reasonable. 
He's  a  simple  old  fellow  and  if  he  sees  the  absurdity 
of  his  claim  he'll  be  glad  to  settle." 

He  yawned  and  looked  at  his  watch.  "Dear  me, 
it's  half-past  one!  Will  you  put  out  the  lights  ?" 

Wayne  heard  his  father's  door  close,  but  he  sat 
smoking  and  pondering.  His  interview  with  him 
had  left  him  irritated  and  restless.  He  was  well 
aware  that  Mrs.  Craighill  had  found  relief  and 
pleasure  in  his  company,  and  he  smiled  as  he  recalled 
her  hurried  flight  through  the  pantry  at  his  father's 
approach.  The  incident  lacked  dignity,  but  his 
father's  treatment  of  her  had  lacked,  too,  and  she 
was  a  young  woman  and  admiration  was  sweet 
to  her.  The  girl  at  the  parish  house  stole  across  the 
smoke-dimmed  horizon  of  his  dreaming,  in  her 
gingham  apron,  with  the  towel  and  cup  in  her  hands. 
Her  friend  had  called  her  Jean  --  Jean,  dearest  of 
names,  with  its  hint  of  Scottish  mists  and  moors 
and  heatherbloom ;  and  Jean  seemed  the  inevitable 
name  for  her,  predestined  of  all  time.  Simplicity 
and  sincerity  were  in  the  haunting  tones  of  her  voice. 
His  ready  imagination  threw  a  bright  glamour 
round  her.  She  suggested  all  manner  of  pictures; 
perhaps  it  was  the  remembrance  of  her  against 
Sargent's  masterly  portrait  that  prompted  this; 
at  any  rate  she  was  the  most  vivid  person  he 
had  ever  known,  and  his  memory  flung  him 


HIGH   DECISION  189 

back  sharply  upon  that  first  meeting,  and  he  saw 
the  anger  in  her  eyes  and  heard  her  saying: 
"7  don't  care  for  your  acquaintance,  Mr.  Wayne 
Craighill." 

He  turned  off  the  lights  impatiently  and  went  to 
bed. 


CHAPTER  XV 

MRS.    BLAIR    IS    DISPLEASED 

WAYNE  went  on  a  Saturday  afternoon  in 
November  to  a  matinee  of  the  Symphony 
Orchestra,  expecting  to  find  Wingfield,  who  kept 
close  touch  with  the  box-office  in  the  interest  of  the 
guarantors.  Not  seeing  his  friend  at  once,  he 
climbed  to  the  gallery  where  Wingfield  sometimes 
went  to  study  the  emotions  of  those  who,  he  said, 
got  more  for  their  money  than  holders  of  first- 
floor  seats.  Wingfield  again  proved  elusive,  but 
Wayne  sat  down  on  the  last  row  and  gave  heed  to 
the  Tannhauser  overture.  His  eyes  roamed  the 
audience  aimlessly;  he  was,  it  seemed,  the  only 
man  in  the  place.  He  was  awrare,  as  the  familiar 
strains  wove  their  spell  upon  the  house,  of  something 
familiar  in  the  dark  head  before  him.  He  bent 
forward  slightly  to  make  sure;  but  there  was,  he 
told  himself,  but  one  head  like  that  —  there  was  no 
doubt  of  its  being  Jean  Morley. 

She  did  not  stir  until  the  end  of  the  number. 
Then  with  a  little  sigh  she  turned  slightly  so  that  he 
saw  the  faint  shadow  of  a  dark  lash  on  her  cheek. 
A  scarlet  ribbon,  tied  under  a  plain  collar,  flashed 
an  instant's  colour  to  her  face  before  she  settled 
herself  for  the  next  number.  There  was  something 

190 


THE   LORDS  OF  HIGH  DECISION   191 

distinquished,  noble  even,  in  the  poise  of  her  head; 
and  soon  before  the  mad  flight  of  the  Valkyries  it 
bent  as  to  a  storm.  It  pleased  his  fancy  that  the 
waves  of  sound  floating  upward  surged  round  her 
with  a  particular  intent.  He  was  quite  sure,  how 
ever,  that  she  must  not  see  him  here.  He  knew 
the  quality  of  her  anger;  the  ground  he  had  gained 
at  the  parish  house  must  not  be  lost.  If  he  wished 
to  retain  her  respect  he  must  avoid  the  appearance 
of  lying  in  wait  for  her.  The  sensation  of  caring 
for  any  one's  respect,  least  of  all  that  of  this  unknown 
girl,  who  had  instinctively,  on  first  sight,  set  up 
barriers  of  defense  against  him,  was  new  to  his 
experience.  He  left  before  the  last  number  to 
continue  his  search  for  Wingfield,  and  found  a 
scrawl  at  the  box-office  explaining  his  friend's 
absence,  but  suggesting  that  they  dine  together 
at  the  Club.  Wayne  glanced  at  the  treasurer's 
report,  made  a  note  of  the  day's  proceeds,  and  as 
he  mingled  in  the  crowd,  found  himself  walking  at 
Miss  Morley's  side. 

"It  was  beautiful,  wasn't  it?"  she  said,  as  the 
crowd  caught  and  held  them.  One  or  two 
women  bowed  to  him  distantly  and  eyed  with 
cold  interest  the  tall  girl  in  the  unfashionable 
clothes  to  whom  he  was  speaking.  He  was  con 
scious  of  this  inspection  of  her  and  it  angered 
him.  He  heard  his  name  spoken  by  someone 
behind  him -- "That's  Wayne  Craighill,"  -as 
though  he  were  a  notorious  character  to  be  pointed 
out  boldly  to  strangers. 


192  THE   LORDS   OF 

"You  think  they  liked  it?  It  wasn't  too  much 
on  one  key?" 

"It  was  lovely,  but  of  course  I  don't  know,  I 
never  heard  an  orchestra  before.  It  probably  meant 
more  to  me  for  that  reason." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  first  times  bring  the  rarest  sensa 
tions.  They  really  did  the  Valkyries  in  great  form." 

"That  was  perfectly  glorious;  I  should  like  to 
hear  all  the  opera." 

"You  are  beyond  doubt  a  natural  born  Wagnerian; 
I  must  tell  my  friend  Wingfield  how  well  the  audience 
took  his  programme.  He's  the  power  behind  the 
orchestra,  and  he  contends  that  the  best  is  not  too 
good,  that  people  wrho  never  heard  these  things 
before  are  just  as  competent  to  criticize  as  trained 
musicians.  You  should  hear  a  symphony  now  - 
give  Beethoven  a  chance,  then  try  the  opera  —  on 
and  up  to  the  heights." 

"I  don't  know  about  the  heights,  but  I  was  pretty 
well  up  on  the  slope  this  afternoon,  and  the  whole 
world  was  mine."  She  spoke  with  feeling,  this 
girl  who  had  nevei  heard  an  orchestra  before,  but 
who  had  followed  the  trumpets  to  new  and  strange 
summits  and  still  carried  dreams  in  her  eyes. 

It  was  a  gray  November  afternoon  and  he  intended 
to  make  it  easy  for  her  to  leave  him  here,  under  the 
bright  entrance  lights. 

"I'm  going  to  Mrs.  Blair's,"  she  explained. 

:' Won't  you  let  me  go  along,  please?  You  see  — 
you  see,  I'm  dining  there!" 

"Not  really!" 


HIGH   DECISION  193 

He  laughed   aloud.     He  had   lied  and  she  was 
not  fair  game  for  falsehood. 

"  Well,  I  carry  a  key  to  my  sister's  front  door  and 
I  can  always  have  a  place  there." 

They  dropped  the  discussion  for  the  moment; 
it  was  quite  a  mile  to  the  Blair's  and  the  moment 
was  sufficient  unto  itself.  He  forgot  that  there 
could  be  any  question  of  her  accepting  his  escort. 
His  heartbeats  quickened  as  he  found  her  walking 
beside  him  with  a  free  step  that  fell  in  comfortably 
with  his  own  swinging  stride.  She  walked  as  people 
walk  who  are  bred  in  a  hill  country  --with  a  slight 
sway  of  the  body  from  the  hips  —  and  she  carried 
her  head  high.  In  imagination  he  robed  her  in 
fashionable  raiment,  a  figure  of  distinction  in  any 
company,  only  to  protest  to  himself  that  her  qualities 
were  superior  to  feathers  or  flounces  and  were  as 
new  in  her  as  though  no  woman  had  ever  possessed 
them  before.  The  music  still  sang  in  her  heart;  she 
had  been  greatly  moved  by  it.  Before  Sargent's 
portrait  he  had  felt  only  her  tyro's  ineptness;  but 
music  had  stolen  her  away  from  herself,  and  carried 
her  close  to  golden  lands  of  promise. 

"How  does  the  work  go  at  the  Institute?" 

"Oh,  I  keep  at  it.  I  have  good  days  and  bad. 
Sometimes  my  eyes  don't  see  straight  and  my  fingers 
are  sticks.  This  afternoon  the  music  made  it  all 
seem  easy;  I  think  it  would  help  if  the  orchestra 
played  in  our  class  room." 

"A  capital  idea;  I'll  speak  to  the  directors  about 
it.  Music  does  seem  to  pry  us  loose  from  the  earth. 


194  THE   LORDS   OF 

You  may  be  surprised  to  know  that  I  used  to  dabble 
at  the  violin  myself --a  long  time  ago.  I  was 
looked  on  as  a  promising  student,  and  might  have 
been  a  real  good  fiddler  if  I  had  kept  it  up." 

"But  you  still  play,  of  course?" 

"Not  by  a  long  shot!  I  broke  my  fiddle  on  my 
seventeenth  birthday  and  turned  toward  a  business 
career." 

"I  suppose  you  had  to  do  that." 

"Well,  it  didn't  seem  quite  square  to  my  ancestors 
to  fit  myself  to  be  the  third  fiddler  in  an  orchestra; 
they  were  eminently  practical  persons.  If  I  had 
kept  at  music  as  a  life  business  very  likely  their 
shades  would  have  haunted  me  and  snapped  my 
fiddle  strings.  But  I  have  no  regrets.  I  should 
probably  have  starved  to  death  if  my  early  ambitions 
hadn't  been  thwarted.  Anyhow,  I  guess  I'm  a 
kind  of  fatalist;  if  it  had  been  in  the  books  that  I 
was  to  go  fiddling  through  the  world  —  why,  I 
should  have  fiddled.  And  in  the  same  way,  it  was 
ordained  that  you  should  go  in  for  art,  and  here 
you  are,  spending  your  days  at  it  and  nothing  could 
head  you  off." 

"Oh,  yes;  many  things  could!  Many  things 
tried!" 

"I  can't  believe  it!  I  believe  that  everybody  has 
a  destiny;  I  don't  know  what  mine  is,  but  I 
undoubtedly  have  it.  I  wouldn't  have  you  think 
that  because  I  fell  on  my  fiddle  and  smashed  it  and 
lost  my  chance  of  immortality  that  way,  I  am  a 
person  without  accomplishments.  I  would  have 


HIGH   DECISION  195 

you  know  that  I'm  a  man  with  a  profession.  I'm 
a  mining  engineer  and  can  prove  it  by  my  diploma, 
and  —  no  other  way!" 

His  spirits  were  high;  they  talked  and  laughed 
together  without  restraint.  He  had  not  in  a  long 
time  laughed  and  chaffed  with  a  girl  in  this  way. 
This  walk  through  the  dusk  was  oddly  complete  in 
itself;  he  felt  no  curiosity  about  her  now,  no  interest 
in  her  life  beyond  this  half-hour.  Her  simplicity, 
the  frank  way  in  which  she  disclosed  her  own  igno 
rance,  her  serious  belittling  of  her  work  in  the  art 
school,  interested  and  touched  him.  She  did  not 
quite  understand  him;  she  was  not  used  to  his  kind 
of  banter.  His  mention  of  his  youthful  study  of  the 
violin  she  had  taken  soberly  and  she  talked  of  her 
own  aims  to  show  her  sympathy. 

"There  are  so  many  students  all  over  the  world 
studying  art  that  it  seems  silly  for  me  to  be  wasting 
time  over  it.  I  had  better  be  learning  to  do  office 
work  or  how  to  sell  things  in  a  shop,  or  how  to  cook 
for  some  of  these  East  End  people,  or  dust  rooms 
and  wait  on  table.  But  sometimes  my  teachers  have 
praised  me,  and  that  puts  off  the  evil  day  when  I 
shall  have  to  come  down  to  hard  work  and  burn 
my  portfolio  - 

"Just  as  I  smashed  my  fiddle!  But  no!  I  tell 
you,  the  fates  have  charge  of  our  business.  They 
are  the  supreme  and  ultimate  court --the  lords 
of  high  decision.  They  have  already  fixed  the 
fabulous  prices  which  you  are  to  get  for  your  por 
traits.  My  sister  will  undoubtedly  have  you  paint 


196 

hers.     If  you  and  she  are  friends  you  can't  escape. 
Fanny's  always  having  her  picture  painted." 

4 'Oh,  but  I'm  not  so  foolish  as  to  think  I  could 
do  portraits  —  not  if  I  lived  a  thousand  years.  My 
ambition  stops  at  pen  and  ink.  If  I  can  only  learn 
to  be  just  a  little  bit  of  an  illustrator  I  shall  be 
satisfied." 

"Excellent!  I  approve  of  that!  It's  just  as 
hard,  they  tell  me,  and  the  market  is  better!  When 
you  are  not  studying  or  helping  at  the  settlement 
house  or  listening  to  music  what  do  you  do  ?  You 
must  have  a  scheme  of  life  all  worked  out  for 
yourself." 

"Oh,  I  often  go  for  long  walks,  in  the  afternoon  - 
take  a  trolley  as  far  as  it  will  carry  me   and  then 
strike   off   for   the   hills,    and   walk   and   walk   and 
walk." 

"I  suppose  you  carry  a  sketch  book  to  see  how 
nature  compares  with  the  landscapes  at  the 
Institute?" 

"No;  landscape  is  beyond  me;  it's  too  big  for 
me.  People  interest  me  more,  children  particularly." 

"Well,  of  course  if  you  want  juvenile  models  I 
needn't  offer  myself." 

"No,  you  needn't,"  she  said  with  so  crisp  an 
emphasis  that  he  laughed. 

"But  you  might  take  me  along  to  sit  by  and 
sharpen  the  pencils;  that  would  save  you  a  lot  of 
bother." 

"It  might,  but  you  see  I  use  ink!" 

"Then, "he  cried    in  despair,   "there    is   nothing 


HIGH  DECISION  197 

left  for  me  but  to  hold  the  bottle.     Let's  change  the 
subject  before  you  tell  me  I  may  not  do  that!" 

They  had  passed,  soon  after  leaving  the  concert, 
the  Craighill  house,  whose  lights  flashed  at  them 
through  the  bare  trees,  and  were  now  drawing  close 
to  the  Blairs'.  She  grew  suddenly  silent,- then 
stopped  abruptly. 

"I  don't  believe  I'll  go  to  see  your  sister  now  — 
it's  so  late.     I'll  telephone  her  that  I'm  not  coming." 
'You're  afraid  my  sister  won't  like  your  coming 
with  me,  isn't  that  it?" 

"No,  I'm  not  afraid  of  your  sister  —  she's  been 
kinder  to  me  than  anyone  else  ever  was " 

"But  you  don't  think  you  ought  to  go  to  her  house 
with  me.  I  would  have  you  know  that  my  sister 
thinks  rather  well  of  me!" 

"I  must  not  do  anything  she  would  dislike," 
persisted  the  girl. 

"You  think  she  wouldn't  like  your  going  there 
with  me?  I  could  leave  you  at  the  gate!" 

They  had  resumed  their  walk  to  avoid  the  appear 
ance  of  dallying.  He  had  no  wish  to  jeopardize 
the  girl's  relations  with  his  sister;  but  it  was  pleasant 
to  talk  to  her;  he  had  never  known  just  this  kind 
of  girl  before.  Her  poverty,  her  ignorance,  her 
ambitions  interested  him  and  set  her  apart.  It  had 
never  been  his  way  to  hide  his  iniquities;  he  was 
persuaded  that  he  meant  her  no  harm  and  he  rebelled 
against  the  thought  that  there  were  reasons  why  she 
should  not  be  seen  with  him.  His  own  sister  had 
expressed  this  clearly  enough  and  he  did  not  know 


198  THE   LORDS   OF 

what  Fanny  would  say  to  him  —  one  never  knew 
about  Fanny !  —  and  the  hope  that  his  sister  would 
seat  Jean  Morley  and  himself  at  her  dinner  table 
only  rose  to  fade.  Fanny  was  capable  of  it,  but  she 
was  capable,  also,  of  scolding  him  sharply  before 
the  girl  and  sending  him  out  of  the  house. 

"Mrs.  Blair  has  a  right  to  question  anything  I 
do.  She  is  doing  a  great  many  beautiful  things 
for  me." 

"Oh,  I'll  explain  it  to  Fanny.  She  and  I  are 
great  pals,"  he  said  lightly. 

"I  couldn't  deceive  your  sister.  If  she  should 
learn  that  you  had  walked  to  her  house  with  me 
without  telling  her,  she  wouldn't  like  it  and  if  she 
knew  she  wouldn't  like  it;  so  you  can't  know  me  - 
you  mustn't  know  me!  Nothing  could  be  clearer 
than  that." 

"I  certainly  can't  know  you  this  way;  that's  as 
plain  as  daylight." 

'There's  no  way  of  knowing  me  at  all!  You 
must  understand  that  now  —  once  and  for  all.  I'm 
very  busy  and  have  my  work  to  do." 

"Well,  we'll  put  it  up  to  Fanny." 

And  so,  the  girl  still  reluctant,  they  entered  the 
house,  where  Mrs.  Blair  darted  out  from  the  library 
with  many  exclamations.  She  seemed,  on  the 
surface,  to  take  the  appearance  of  her  callers  as  a 
matter  of  course,  but  she  waved  him  into  the  library 
with  an  air  of  brushing  him  out  of  existence. 

While  he  waited  he  scrutinized  the  new  books 
with  a  view  to  determining  in  just  what  field  of 


HIGH   DECISION  199 

thought  his  sister  now  disported.  Miss  Morley's 
errand  with  Mrs.  Blair  was  of  the  briefest  and  as 
they  concluded  their  conference  in  the  hall  he 
appeared  before  them  promptly.  His  sister's  glance 
did  not  encourage  his  hope  to  carry  off  the  situation 
lightly;  but  he  could  not  do  less  then  accept  full 
responsibility  for  the  visit  and  he  resolved  to  put 
a  bold  face  upon  it.  Mrs.  Blair  had  just  rung  for 
her  motor,  and  she  sent  the  maid  upstairs  for  her 
wraps  with  the  obvious  intention  of  making  it 
unnecessary  for  Wayne  to  accompany  the  girl 
further. 

"Fanny,"  he  began,  "Miss  Morley  and  I  have 
become  acquainted  in  the  most  astonishing  fashion. 
We  met  at  Paddock's  parish  house  not  long 
ago  by  the  merest  chance;  this  afternoon,  while 
at  the  concert,  estimating  the  deficit  for  the  day,  I 
ran  into  her  again;  and  I  begged  Miss  Morley's 
consent  to  walk  up  here  with  her;  and  here  I  am." 

"It  really  was  unnecessary,"  murmured  the  girl. 

"I  think  you  ought  to  tell  Miss  Morley  to  give  me 
just  a  little  of  her  time,  Fanny  —  just  a  little.  Of 
course  she  is  busy;  but  then  - 

Mrs.  Blair  looked  from  one  to  the  other.  The 
girl  was  so  plainly  embarrassed,  Wayne's  good 
humour  and  high  spirits  were  so  appealing,  that 
Fanny  Blair  found  this  one  of  her  most  difficult 
occasions. 

"I'm  sure  Miss  Morley  is  quite  able  to  manage  her 
affairs  without  any  help  from  me.  Are  you  dining 
here,  WTayne?" 


200  THE   LORDS   OF 

"I'm  afraid  I  intimated  as  much  to  Miss  Morley 
so  she  would  let  me  come  with  her;  I  promise  never 
to  tell  another  lie."  He  bowed  in  mock  humility 
but  the  frown  on  his  sister's  face  showed  her 
displeasure. 

"  I'm  going  to  take  Miss  Morley  home  in  the  motor. 
If  you  are  dining  here  you  can  make  yourself  com 
fortable  as  usual." 

"Oh,  but  I  really  can't  stay!  You'll  have  to  take 
me  along.  Now  that  I  think  of  it,  Dick  expects  me 
at  the  Club." 

Fanny  was  clearly  not  pleased,  but  he  was  con 
fident  of  mollifying  her  later.  The  girl's  plight 
was  a  more  serious  matter:  he  had  taken  an  unfair 
advantage,  he  had  put  her  in  a  false  position  with 
his  sister,  and  he  bitterly  accused  himself.  Fanny 
pointedly  ignored  him  while  they  waited  for  the 
motor,  and  he  stood  by  like  a  boy  in  disgrace  while 
she  talked  to  Miss  Morley  about  a  dozen  irrelevant 
things.  He  sought  to  save  his  dignity  by  hastening 
the  arrival  of  the  motor  from  the  garage;  and  when 
the  car  came  and  he  shut  them  in  —  Fanny  left  him 
to  find  a  seat  outside. 

She  gave  him  Miss  Morley 's  address  as  though 
he  had  been  the  footman,  and  he  climbed  humbly  to 
a  seat  beside  the  chauffeur.  When  the  boarding 
house  was  reached  Mrs.  Blair  descended  and  rang 
the  bell  herself,  and  when  a  slatternly  maid  opened 
the  door  Mrs.  Blair  stepped  inside  for  a  few  minutes, 
that  there  might  be  no  question  of  the  sex  of  Miss 
Morley's  escort. 


HIGH  DECISION 

"Well?"   demanded   Mrs.   Blair   as   soon   as   he 
had  seated  himself  beside  her  in  the  tonneau. 

"Why  so  tragic,  Fanny?  Paddock  asked  me  to 
come  and  see  him  and  his  good  works  —  I  went ;  he 
insisted  that  I  look  at  his  kitchen  and  there  was 
your  girl  with  the  adorable  head  dutifully  wiping 
the  dishes  —  a  pretty  picture!  Paddock  was  going  to 
take  her  and  a  friend  into  town  on  the  trolley,  but  the 
hour  was  late  and  I  took  them  home  in  my  car  —  she 
and  the  other  girl  inside,  poor  old  me  decorously  out 
in  the  cold.  Then  I  went  to  see  how  much  Wagner 
the  dear  people  were  swallowing  at  popular  prices 
this  afternoon;  went  into  the  balcony  to  look  for 
Dick,  and  lo!  the  adorable  head  was  just  in  front 
of  me.  But  no,  I  did  not  let  her  see  me;  I  knew 
she  would  lose  faith  in  me  if  she  thought  I  was  pur 
suing  her;  I  went  about  my  business,  but  on  my 
way  out  ran  into  her  again.  What  could  be  more 
natural  than  that  I  should  walk  to  my  sister's 
house  with  her?" 

"You  must  have  known  she  was  going  to  the 
settlement  house;  it's  a  little  hard  to  accept  so  many 
coincidences.  And  I  had  asked  you  to  let  her 
alone." 

"Paddock  invited  me  to  visit  him;  she  and  her 
friend  were  cleaning  up  the  dishes.  It  was  her 
first  visit,  too." 

"So  you  took  her  home  in  your  car?  You  did 
that?" 

"And  her  friend  with  her.  Joe  is  a  kind  of  usher 
and  policeman  at  the  settlement  house.  Paddock 


THE   LORDS   OF 

seems  to  be  gathering  in  all  sorts  and  conditions  — 
even  me!" 

"Joe!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Blair  with  more  anima 
tion;  and  then:  "You  must  get  rid  of  that  fellow. 
I  don't  like  him." 

Mrs.  Blair  spoke  with  so  much  energy  that  Wayne 
laughed  aloud. 

'Why,  Fanny,  Joe  has  saved  my  life  many  times. 
He's  been  so  miserable  when  I  went  bad  that  I've 
been  ashamed  to  face  him." 

Mrs.  Blair  relapsed  into  silence,  and  he  saw  by 
the  flashes  of  the  electric  lamps  at  the  corners  that 
she  was  seriously  troubled. 

'You  know  without  my  telling  you  that  you 
must  let  this  girl  alone.  These  chance  meetings 
won't  occur  again --if  they  have  been  chance 
meetings!" 

"I  swear  it,  Fanny!" 

"She's  terribly  poor;  she  has  ambitions,  and 
I'm  trying  to  help  her.  She's  utterly  unsophisticated, 
as  you  can  see;  you  will  ruin  her  future  and  make 
her  wretchedly  unhappy  if  you  don't  avoid  her." 

"  WThen  do  you  think  a  man  can  begin  to  be  good  ? 
Do  you  think  I  am  so  utterly  rotten  that  no  decent 
women  may  ever  dare  know  me?  Come  now, 
Fanny." 

"There  are  plenty  of  girls  you  can  know  if  you 
want  to --who  don't  live  in  boarding  houses  and 
starve  their  way  through  art  schools." 

"But  they  haven't  her  eyes;  they  don't  carry  their 
heads  like  goddesses,"  he  persisted. 


HIGH  DECISION  203 

*  You've  seen  too  many  eyes  in  too  many  divine 
heads.  I  tell  you,  it  won't  do!  If  you  will  think 
of  it  a  minute  you  will  see  that  only  a  word  is  enough 
to  wreck  that  girl's  life.  Do  you  suppose  you  can 
call  on  her  at  her  boarding  house  ?  Are  you  going 
to  walk  with  her  to  her  lessons?  Do  you  quite 
see  yourself  taking  her  to  concerts  and  to  church 
Sunday  mornings?  My  big  brother,  if  you  don't 
stop  being  preposterous  I  shall  get  angry." 

"Oh,  no.  Please  don't!  I'm  disappointed;  I 
thought  you  had  advised  me  to  be  good  and  marry 
and  settle  down." 

Marry !  That  girl  ?  Wayne,  you  are  impossible ! ' ' 
''Very  likely;  but  the  girl  isn't  so  impossible. 
I  hadn't  thought  of  marrying  her,  but  the  idea 
doesn't  exactly  terrify  me.  She's  an  immensely  inter 
esting  person  —  she  haunts  me  like  a  theme  in  music. 
She's  poor  and  if  I  could  save  her  from  the  pitfalls 
of  art --the  failures,  the  heartache  of  failing  to 
arrive  —  that  isn't  so  impossible,  is  it?" 

"Yes,  it's  absolutely  out  of  the  question.  And  if 
you  don't  let  her  alone  I'll  ship  her  back  where  she 
came  from;  just  one  more  of  these  coincidences  and 
I'll  do  that.  We've  had  enough  marriages  in  the 
family,  I  hope,  to  last  for  some  time." 

"Ah!  So  this  bitterness  of  spirit  is  not  all  for  me  ? 
Has  John  taken  to  evil  ways?" 

"What's  the  matter  at  father's ?  Why  was  Addie 
crying  this  morning  when  I  went  in  to  see  her  ?" 

"I  dare  say  she  cried  because  you  came,  if  you 
were  as  fierce  as  you  are  now." 


204  THE   LORDS   OF 

"She  had  been  crying  and  looked  miserably 
unhappy." 

"Probably  a  row  with  the  cook.  She  isn't  used  to 
keeping  house.  She's  going  to  Boston  with  the 
Colonel  and  that  will  set  her  up  again." 

Mrs.  Blair  was  silent  for  a  moment  then  flashed: 

"  How  much  do  you  see  of  her  ?  " 

"Precious  little.  Breakfast,  and  a  glimpse  some 
times  as  I  go  to  my  couch  at  night." 

'You  must  leave  the  house;  you  must  come  and 
live  with  us  at  once,"  declared  Mrs.  Blair  with 
impressive  finality. 

"Thanks!"  Wayne  laughed.  "Do  you  think 
I  tease  my  stepmother  to  make  her  cry  ?  Do  you 
think  my  moral  example  is  bad  for  her  ?  Addie 
snubs  me  every  chance  she  gets.  Only  this  morn 
ing  at  breakfast,  while  the  Colonel  read  a  papal 
encyclical  or  something  equally  exciting,  Addie  and 
I  discussed  the  relative  merits  of  country  sausage 
and  chocolate  eclaires.  To  see  me  sitting  at  the 
breakfast  table  between  the  Colonel  and  my  step 
mother  is  edifying  beyond  any  words.  Addie  is 
a  good  girl;  I  like  Addie.  But  she  isn't  in  the  same 
class  with  your  protegee.  Here's  the  Club;  shall  I 
detach  John  McCandless  from  the  sacred  rye-pots 
and  send  him  out?" 

'  You  know  John  never  drinks;  and  he's  in  Buffalo 
to-day." 

"Then  he  will  drink  beyond  any  doubt;  one 
must  —  in  Buffalo!" 

While  he  stood  chaffing  her  at  the  car  door,  she 


HIGH  DECISION  205 

clasped  his  hand  tightly  and  begged  him  to  see  her 
soon.  As  the  car  started  a  newsboy  hailed  Wayne 
familiarly  from  the  street  and  Fanny  saw  her 
brother's  broad  shoulders  bent  over  the  lad  and 
his  elbow  crooked  as  he  felt  for  a  coin.  How  true 
it  was  that  everyone  liked  Wayne!  His  generosity 
was  boundless;  the  very  recklessness  and  extrava 
gance  of  his  derelictions  endeared  him  to  many. 
As  the  Club  door  closed  upon  him  the  newsboy 
dashed  off  with  an  exultant  shout  on  the  wings  of 
new  fortune. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE    TRIP    TO    BOSTON 

MRS.  CRAIGHILL  bore  the  scrutiny  of  her 
new  fellow-citizens  with  dignity,  and  by 
the  first  of  December  she  had  ceased  to  be  a  curiosity. 
She  had  met  every  one  of  importance;  even  Mrs. 
Wingfield  had  been  obliged  to  bow  to  her  at  a  recep 
tion.  Those  who  persisted  in  their  determination 
to  ignore  her  advent  were  too  few  to  count.  It  had 
been  hinted  that  she  would  prove  loud;  that  she 
was  dull;  that  she  would  make  her  husband's 
money  fly-  "such  women"  always  did;  but  no 
one  worth  considering  was  willing  at  the  end  of 
two  months  to  say  that  she  was  properly  to  be  classed 
among  "such  women."  Her  severest  critics  were 
those  who,  habituated  to  the  contemplation  of 
Roger  Craig-bill's  presence  in  a  front  pew  at  church, 
feared  that  by  marrying  one  of  "such  women" 
they  being  young  adventuresses  headed  brazenly 
for  the  divorce  court  —  their  idol  might  suffer  the 
pains  and  penalties  of  scandal  and  alimony.  Even 
the  most  conservative  now  admitted  that  if  Mrs. 
Craighill's  motives  in  marrying  her  elderly  husband 
had  not  been  the  noblest,  she  was  carrying  herself 
well.  Members  of  her  own  set,  who  had  been 
among  the  original  doubters,  had  waited  for  the 

206 


THE   LORDS   OF  HIGH   DECISION  207 

complete  disclosure  of  Mrs.  Craighill's  wardrobe 
before  committing  themselves,  but  the  taste  and 
sobriety  of  her  raiment  disarmed  criticism;  she 
was  not  loud.  In  another  of  the  circles  within 
the  Circle  it  was  questioned  whether  the  newcomer 
was  fitted  intellectually  to  be  Roger  Craighill's 
wife,  but  Fanny  Blair  vouched  for  the  worthiness 
of  her  stepmother's  interests.  "Addie  reads  every 
thing,"  declared  Mrs.  Blair  sweepingly,  whereupon 
Mrs.  Craighill  was  promptly  nominated  for  member 
ship  in  the  Woman's  Club.  Many  were  saying 
that  her  conduct,  in  circumstances  the  most 
difficult,  had  been  admirable  and  the  frequency 
with  wThich,  in  these  first  weeks,  Fanny  Blair  had 
gone  about  with  her,  advertised  the  completeness 
of  the  new  wife's  acceptance  in  the  family.  It 
was  even  whispered  that  Wayne  had  reformed, 
and  this  startling  announcement,  where  it  found 
credence,  was  attributed  to  his  stepmother's 
influence. 

Roger  Craighill  and  his  wife  were  dining  alone 
at  home  the  evening  before  the  day  of  their  depar 
ture  for  Boston.  He  had  long  made  a  point  of 
dressing  for  dinner  and  she  wore  a  gown  he  had 
not  seen  before  and  whose  perfection  he  praised. 

"Your  taste  is  exquisite,  Addie.  I  like  you  in 
light  things;  they  seem  to  be  a  part  of  you  —  to 
express  you.  You  are  the  most  graceful  and  charm 
ing  woman  in  the  world." 

Her  face  brightened.  They  had  been  dining  out 
a  great  deal  and  it  was  a  pleasure  to  have  this 


208  THE  LORDS  OF 

evening  at  their  own  table.  She  felt  again  the 
dignity  of  her  position  as  Roger  Craighill's  wife. 
She  had  been  hurt  deeply  by  his  exclusion  of  her 
on  the  night  he  had  written  his  address;  but  she 
thought  now  how  handsome  he  was,  how  well  he 
carried  his  years,  and  it  was  no  mean  thing  to  have 
been  chosen  by  such  a  man  to  share  his  home  and 
fame.  She  had  found  it  all  too  easy  to  take  refuge 
in  Wayne's  ready  comradeship;  the  stolen  refer 
ences  to  their  earlier  acquaintance  that  she  had 
suffered  him  to  make  had  shown  her  how  dangerous 
it  was  to  trust  to  his  consolations.  Wayne  must 
be  kept  at  a  distance;  she  would  take  care  that 
he  did  not  see  her  again  alone. 

In  this  fresh  access  of  loyalty  to  her  husband 
she  excused  and  justified  his  conduct  in  shutting 
himself  in  to  prepare  his  address;  very  likely  it 
was  the  way  of  busy  men  who  thus  give  their  leisure 
to  public  service.  She  must  sacrifice  her  own 
pleasure  just  as  he  did  and  bring  herself  into  sym 
pathy  with  these  labours  of  his.  There  was  flattery 
in  his  frequent  monologues  on  public  matters  and 
public  men;  she  was  perforce  the  listener,  but  he 
was  older  and  in  her  ignorance  it  was  an  agreeable 
relief  not  to  be  expected  to  contribute  more  than 
an  inquiry,  thrown  in  to  lead  him  on.  She  resolved 
to  keep  a  scrap-book  of  the  offerings  of  the  clipping 
bureau  to  which  he  subscribed,  that  a  complete 
history  might  be  made  of  his  public  services.  At 
Boston  she  expected  to  hear  him  speak  for  the  first 
time;  she  had  seen  the  programme  of  the  conferences 


HIGH  DECISION  209 

and   several   men  of  national  prominence  were  to 
make  addresses. 

She  poured  the  coffee  and  sent  the  maid  away, 
to  prolong  the  mood  of  this  hour.  The  quiet  service, 
the  substantial  appointments  of  the  room,  the 
realization  that  she  bore  the  honoured  name  of 
the  man  who  faced  her  contributed  to  her  happiness. 
It  was  pleasant  to  be  Mrs.  Craighill;  she  was  enjoy 
ing  her  position  in  the  thousand  ways  possible  to 
her  nature  —  the  stir  of  the  clerks  in  the  shops 
when  she  appeared,  the  whispered  interest  her  pres 
ence  occasioned  anywhere.  She  was,  indeed,  Mrs. 
Craighill  and  everyone  was  anxious  to  serve  her. 
To  be  sought  first  by  those  persons  who  are  forever 
seeking  victims  to  act  as  patronesses;  to  be  asked  to 
head  subscription  lists ;  the  deference  shown  her  — 
these  things  she  enjoyed  with  a  pardonable  zest 
and  she  would  not  jeopardize  her  right  to  them. 

"As  you  haven't  seen  Boston  in  late  years," 
Colonel  Craighill  was  saying,  "you  will  find  much 
to  interest  you  while  we  are  there  for  the  municipal 
conferences.  Though  I  haven't  the  slightest 
ancestral  claim  on  New  England  I  feel  a  certain 
kinship  with  her  people.  If  we  were  not  so  firmly 
planted  here  I  should  like  to  move  to  Boston  to 
spend  my  last  years  there.  Contact  with  some 
of  her  fine,  public-spirited  citizens  would  be  an 
inspiration.  Some  of  my  best  friends  are  Bostonians, 
friends  I  have  made  through  my  connection  with 
public  work.  People  ask  me  —  and  they  will  be  ask 
ing  you  from  time  to  time — why  I  spend  so  much 


210  THE   LORDS   OF 

time  on  these  movements  for  the  public  welfare; 
but  they  have  been  a  great  resource  to  me.  I  have 
been  well  repaid  for  all  I  have  done.  I  have  had 
my  perplexities  and  worries,  a  modern  business 
man  is  ground  in  a  hard  mill;  but  I  am  conscious 
of  having  done  my  little  toward  bettering  our  political 
and  social  conditions,  and  nothing  in  my  life  makes 
me  happier  than  that  thought.  Do  you  know," 
and  he  smiled  depreciatingly,  "I  heard  from  one 
or  two  quarters  that  Harvard  was  going  to  confer 
a  degree  on  me  next  year  for  my  work  in  behalf  of 
civic  reform;  it  was  only  an  intimation,  but  one 
of  my  friends,  whom  I  have  learned  to  know  well 
at  our  annual  conferences,  is  a  prominent  alumnus, 
and  he  has  remarked  several  times  that  they'd 
have  to  make  a  Harvard  man  of  me  somehow." 

"I  think  it  is  so  remarkable,"  said  Mrs.  Craighill, 
"that  you  never  went  to  college.  You  seem  like 
a  college  man." 

"I  have  regretted  more  than  I  can  tell  you  my 
lack  of  systematic  education.  My  father  was  hardly 
more  than  well-to-do  and  I  went  into  business  at 
eighteen.  But  I  have  been  a  diligent  reader;  you 
might  say  that  I  have  always  been  a  student.  It's 
possible  that  I  should  have  fared  poorly  in  college; 
my  disposition  was  always,  even  when  a  boy,  to 
brush  away  details  and  seek  the  broader  view.  I 
think  I  owe  my  success  in  life  to  that  --  the  ability 
to  climb  upon  the  hills  and  see  the  lights  afar  off." 

He  stirred  his  coffee  with  the  care  we  give  in  our 
ease  to  unimportant  things.  He  was  satisfied  with 


HIGH  DECISION  211 

himself  and  the  world;    when  he  spoke  she  felt  as 
though  she  were  eavesdropping  upon  a  reverie. 

"It  is  a  great  joy  to  have  you  here  by  my  side  — 
the  house  has  brightened  since  you  came.  If  only 
Wayne  would  take  the  place  to  which  he  was  born 
in  the  community  I  should  not  have  a  care!" 

"But  Wayne  is  doing  well;  I  thought  you  said 
yourself  that  he  was  attending  very  regularly  at  the 
office,  that  he  had  really  begun  to  take  an  interest 
in  business." 

"He's  a  boy  of  moods,  poor  Wayne!  Just  now 
he's  going  to  the  office  every  day.  His  cleverness 
is  amazing  when  he  applies  himself;  but  let  a  new 
kind  of  motor  catch  his  eye  and  off  he  goes!  He's 
struck  a  new  humour  lately  —  devoting  himself  to 
the  study  of  a  lot  of  most  complicated  legal  matters 
-  contracts  and  the  like.  Such  things  are  best 
left  to  the  lawyers.  But  he  has  kept  straight  for 
some  time  and  that's  something.  It's  a  good  deal, 
and  I'm  grateful  for  it.  I  have  always  let  him  do 
as  he  pleased  at  the  office  in  the  hope  that  he  would 
some  day  find  something  that  interested  him." 

"He's  very  bright  —  and  likable,"  said  Mrs. 
Craighill.  "Fanny  says  he's  a  genius." 

"Fanny  can  see  no  wrong  in  her  brother,  and 
I'm  glad  of  it;  but  she  has  kept  me  ignorant  of 
many  of  his  worst  escapades  and  I  have  simply 
never  been  able  to  get  near  him.  We  are  very 
unlike." 

"Isn't  that  strange!  I've  been  thinking  that  in 
so  many  ways  you  and  he  are  much  alike." 


THE   LORDS   OF 

"Physically,  yes;  he  has  my  build.  I  rather 
fancy  that  I'm  still  as  erect  as  he  is!" 

He  smiled  and  waited  for  her  acquiescence,  but 
she  had  been  thinking  intently  and  did  not  at  once 
meet  his  eyes. 

They  had  rarely  spoken  of  Wayne;  it  could  hardly 
be  said  that  they  avoided  mentioning  him;  but  his 
life  was  outside  theirs;  his  sleeping  in  the  house 
and  eating  one  meal  a  day  with  them  left  him  a 
tolerated  tenant  whose  ways  it  were  wiser  not  to 
question.  Mrs.  Craighill  observed  with  interest  that 
her  husband  seemed  willing  to  take  credit  for  his 
son's  admirable  physical  proportions,  but  that  his 
paternal  pride  stopped  there.  Her  attitude  toward 
her  husband  was  so  wholly  sympathetic  to-night 
that  she  saw  Wayne  with  his  eyes.  It  must  indeed 
be  a  grievous  thing  to  have  lived  an  honorable  life, 
to  have  made  a  place  for  one's  self  and  to  find  both 
name  and  position  brought  low  by  a  profligate  son. 

"Fanny  is  very  happy,"  continued  Colonel  Craig- 
hill.  "John  is  a  splendid  fellow  —  steady  as  a 
rock,  and  with  high  ideals.  A  woman  like  Fanny 
needs  such  a  man  to  check  her  exuberances." 

"Oh,  she's  most  delightful  and  she  has  certainly 
been  kind  to  me!  She  might  have  made  it  hard 
for  me  if  she  had  wanted  to." 

"Oh,  she's  kind!"  smiled  Colonel  Craighill, 
though  his  tone  implied  that  allowances  must  be 
made  for  Fanny.  "There's  a  good  deal  of  the 
Wayne  in  her,  just  as  there  is  in  her  brother."  He 
shook  his  head  and  sighed.  As  they  left  the  dining 


HIGH  DECISION  213 

room  her  husband  placed  his  arm  about  her.  These 
intimations  of  his  secret  feeling  toward  his  children 
seemed  to  have  knit  her  closer  into  his  life;  she 
felt  the  ground  solider  under  her  feet.  She  was 
not  without  her  sensibilities  and  she  had  realized 
that  a  second  wife  does  not  at  once  wear  her  new 
robes  easily.  It  is  as  though  she  blundered  upon 
a  stage  whose  scene  has  been  set  by  another  hand. 
Its  mechanism,  its  lights,  its  exits  are  unfamiliar. 
She  is  haunted  by  the  dread  of  missing  her  cue  and 
of  hearing  a  ghostly  prompter's  voice  mocking  her 
off  stage. 

"I  have  just  been  re- writing  my  will,  and  I  have 
taken  pains  to  eliminate,  so  far  as  human  foresight 
can  do  so,  the  possibility  of  any  trouble  when  I 
am  gone.  You  will  have  many  years  beyond  my 
expectation  of  life  and  I  want  nothing  to  mar  them. 
It  will  be  unnecessary  for  you  to  deal  with  my  children 
in  any  way.  I  have  designated  our  strongest  trust 
company  —  a  concern  in  which  I  have  long  been 
director  —  to  administer  the  estate.  Of  course  I 
hope  your  relations  with  my  children  will  always 
continue  friendly,  but  it  is  best  not  to  mingle  family 
interests  in  such  a  case.  And  now"  he  rubbed 
his  hands  together  as  though  freeing  himself  of 
every  care  —  "now  we  may  dismiss  the  future  to 
take  care  of  itself." 

"I  don't  like  to  think  of  such  things,"  she  murmured. 
"I'm  just  beginning  to  appreciate  all  that  you  have 
done  for  me.  It  means  more  to  me,  Roger,  than 
you  have  any  idea  of.  You  have  been  most  kind 


214  THE   LORDS   OF 

and  considerate,  and  generous  in  every  way.  I 
have  never  been  so  happy  —  I  never  expected  such 
happiness  to  come  to  me.  It  doesn't  seem  that  I 
deserve  it." 

She  sat  down  on  a  stool  beside  him  and  he  took 
one  of  her  hands  and  held  it  on  his  knee  and  stroked 
it  fondly.  This  tenderness,  keyed  to  the  domestic 
tone  of  the  hearthside,  soothed  and  exalted  her. 
He  believed  in  her,  she  belonged  to  him;  she  wished 
that  this  hour  might  never  end,  so  perfect  were 
its  peace  and  happiness.  He  talked  to-night  with 
a  new  freedom,  and  she  felt  the  years  diminish 
between  them.  He  told  her  many  anecdotes  of 
old  times  in  the  city,  describing  the  humble  begin 
nings  of  some  of  his  fellow-townsmen:  "When  I 
first  knew  him  he  was  only  a  truck  driver,  and 
now!"  -the  familiar  phrases  of  American  biog 
raphy.  The  hours  passed  swiftly.  At  half-past 
ten  a  motor  stopped  at  the  side  door,  and  a  moment 
later  Wayne's  key  snapped  the  lock. 

"I'll  tell  him  to  come  in  here,"  said  Addie,  rising. 
He  answered  her  summons  cheerily,  and  came  in 
and  stood  with  his  back  to  the  fire.  His  high  spirits 
caused  his  father  to  eye  him  carefully,  but  Wayne, 
as  though  in  answer  to  this  silent  inquiry,  straightened 
himself  and  stood  erect  with  arms  folded  for  inspec 
tion. 

"I'm  off  for  a  little  trip  to-night.  Wingfield 
wants  me  to  go  over  to  Philadelphia  with  him  to 
see  a  Mask  and  Wig  show.  We'll  come  back  in 
three  or  four  days." 


HIGH   DECISION  215 

"Are  you  sure  it  isn't  a  prize  fight?"  quizzed 
Colonel  Craighill.  "I'm  always  a  little  suspicious 
of  Dick's  expeditions.  When  you  and  he  leave 
town  I  usually  find  there's  been  a  prize  fight  at  the 
other  end  of  the  line." 

"Oh,  I  can't  believe  such  things  of  Mr.  Wing- 
field!"  cried  Addie;  "  he  talks  to  me  only  of  pictures 
and  music.  I  can't  imagine  him  watching  men 
pound  each  other." 

"He's  a  fellow  of  first-rate  ability,"  observed 
Colonel  Craighill,  to  whom  Wingfield  was  a  deplor 
able  idler  who  had  made  no  use  of  his  talents.  "But 
he  has  never  justified  his  right  to  exist." 

"  Wliy  should  he  work  merely  to  please  his  critics  ? 
If  he  took  a  job,  it  would  throw  somebody  else  out. 
What  would  you  have  him  do  ?"  Wayne  demanded. 

"  Our  rich  young  men  have  had  too  much  notoriety; 
they  have  brought  scandal  upon  the  city ! "  ejaculated 
Colonel  Craighill  wrathfully  and  with  unmistakable 
application. 

"You  oughtn't  to  believe  all  you  see  in  the  yellow 
papers.  Besides,  Dick's  about  the  decentest  man 
I  ever  knew.  He  doesn't  pretend  to  sole  own 
ership  in  all  the  virtues.  That's  why  I  like  him 
so  well." 

Colonel  Craighill  had  frequently  made  these 
thrusts  at  Wingfield  and  to-night  Wayne  resented 
them  more  than  usual.  He  turned  to  Addie,  who 
had  sought  a  book  on  the  table  and  was  studying 
the  title  page  attentively  during  this  interchange. 
She  thought  Wayne  had  not  shown  his  father  proper 


216  THE   LORDS   OF 

respect  and  the  disturbance  of  the  room's  tranquillity 
annoyed  her. 

"When  do  you  head  for  the  Hub,  Addie?" 
Wayne  asked. 

"It's  to-morrow  night,  isn't  it,  Roger?" 

'Yes;  to-morrow  evening,"  answered  Colonel 
Craighill  reaching  for  a  magazine. 

"Dick  and  I  spend  only  a  few  days  assailing  the 
impenetrable  fastnesses  of  the  Philadelphia  mind. 
Is  there  anything  special  coming  up,  father?" 

"Nothing  out  of  the  usual  run;  I  think  Gregory 
may  come  in,  but  you  needn't  trouble  about  him. 
Tell  him  I'll  see  him  when  I  come  back." 

"  He  was  in  to-day,  now  that  I  think  of  it,"  remarked 
Wayne,  thrusting  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  "and 
waited  an  hour  for  you." 

"I'm  perfectly  aware  of  that,"  snapped  Colonel 
Craighill.  'I  was  busy  and  sent  word  for  him  to 
see  Morehead.  He's  so  persistent  lately  that  he's 
lost  any  claim  he  had  as  an  old  acquaintance  and 
we'll  let  him  face  the  facts  squarely  with  our  lawyer." 

He  spoke  with  considerable  irritation,  but  he 
controlled  himself  and  adjusted  his  glasses  to  read. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  he  had  shown  anger 
before  his  wife.  She  had  wondered  whether  anything 
could  shatter  his  perfect  poise  and  affability,  and 
his  display  of  temper  frightened  her,  much  as  exhibi 
tions  of  anger  in  adults  alarm  and  dismay  children. 

"I  must  get  my  bag;  I'm  holding  the  car,"  said 
Wayne  to  Addie.  "I  hope  you'll  have  a  fine  outing." 

"Wayne,"    interposed    Colonel    Craighill,    "your 


HIGH  DECISION  217 

man  Joe  doesn't  seem  quite  essential  to  this  estab 
lishment.  It  seems  to  me  we  might  get  along 
with  one  chauffeur  between  us." 

'Then,"  grinned  Wayne,  "you  had  better  fire 
yours.  Joe  has  been  here  longer,  and  we  must 
stick  to  the  merit  system  if  the  heavens  fall." 

"Joe's  a  sporting  character;  my  man  is  a  trained 
mechanic.  A  number  of  men  have  spoken  to  me 
of  Joe's  reckless  driving  of  your  machines." 

"They  ought  to  speak  to  me.  If  you  don't  want 
Joe  on  the  place  I'll  move  my  car  to  a  public  garage." 

"I'll  trouble  you  not  to  speak  to  me  in  that  tone. 
I'm  not  questioning  your  right  to  use  the  garage; 
I  merely  suggested  an  economy  and  getting  rid  of 
an  idle  fellow  who  is  bound  to  get  you  into  trouble." 

'You  don't  know  Joe.  You  couldn't  push  him 
into  trouble!"  laughed  Wayne,  with  a  return  of 
his  good  humour.  He  received  a  reproachful  look 
from  Addie  as  he  shook  hands  with  her.  His  father 
rose  and  bade  him  good-bye  with  formality. 

"We  shall  be  gone  about  a  week,"  he  remarked; 
"my  address  will  be  the  Beverly  if  you  should  wish 
to  communicate  with  me." 

While  Wayne  was  packing  his  bag  Colonel  Craig- 
hill  continued  to  turn  the  pages  of  his  magazine. 
Addie  moved  restlessly  about,  softly  opening  and 
closing  the  book-cases  and  listlessly  glancing  at 
titles.  The  display  of  ill-feeling  between  father  and 
son  had  spoiled  what  had  been  at  the  moment  of 
Wayne's  entrance,  the  happiest  evening  of  her 
married  life.  If  sides  must  be  taken,  she  would, 


218  THE   LORDS   OF 

of  course,  stand  with  her  husband;  but  she  was 
displeased  that  Wayne  had  made  it  necessary  for 
her  to  take  sides  at  all.  Wayne's  unreasonableness 
had  caused  the  domestic  sanctuary  lamp  to  flicker 
just  at  the  moment  when  it  had  flamed  most  aus 
piciously.  With  sudden  access  of  feeling  she  crossed 
the  room  and  laid  her  hand  gently  on  Colonel  Craig- 
hill's  arm. 

"Roger,"  she  murmured  softly,  "I'm  so  sorry!" 

"Don't  trouble,  dear;  it's  too  bad  you  had  to 
witness  my  humiliation ;  but  it's  inevitable,  I  suppose, 
that  you  should  know." 

She  saw  that  her  sympathy  was  grateful  to  him; 
she  felt  his  response  to  it  in  the  soft  stroking  of  her 
hair  as  she  knelt  beside  him.  They  remained  thus 
until  they  heard  Wayne  running  down  stairs 
humming  softly  to  himself.  He  stood  at  the  door 
a  moment  later,  suit  case  in  hand. 

"Good  night!"  he  called,  and  as  he  went  for 
his  coat  and  hat  she  followed  him  to  the  door. 
He  waved  his  hand  to  her  and  as  the  motor  rolled 
toward  the  street  she  returned  to  her  husband. 

Colonel  Craighill  was  again  turning  the  leaves 
of  a  periodical,  and  he  threw  it  down  with  a  yawn. 

"It  must  be  bedtime."  He  paused  and  listened. 
"Isn't  that  the  door  bell  ?  I'll  go  myself." 

He  returned  carrying  a  special  delivery  letter, 
and  opened  it  with  a  paper  cutter  which  she  handed 
him  from  the  table. 

"Why,"  he  exclaimed,  his  face  lighting,  "it's 
from  Colonel  Broderick." 


HIGH  DECISION  219 

When  he  had  finished  reading  he  turned  back 
to  the  beginning  again,  murmuring  his  pleasure, 
and  read  aloud: 

"I  had  expected  to  write  earlier,  asking  you  to 
stay  with  us  during  the  meetings  of  the  conference 
but,  in  Mrs.  Broderick's  absence,  I  was  afraid  to 
assume  the  responsibilities  of  host.  She  will,  how 
ever,  be  at  home  to-morrow  so  I  am  asking  you 
and  Senator  Tarleton  of  Virginia  to  accept  our 
shelter.  I  am  very  anxious  for  you  to  know  Tarleton 
as  he  wields  great  influence  in  the  South  and  this 
is  the  first  time  he  has  lent  his  countenance  to  our 
work.  Mrs.  Broderick  will  allow  the  three  of  us 
full  liberty  to  sit  up  all  night  and  pass  final  judg 
ment  on  all  the  things  that  have  so  long  been  dear 
to  you  and  me.  I  hope  your  annual  address  is 
good  and  salty;  the  attitude  of  this  administration 
toward  the  civil  service  has  been  a  keen  disappoint 
ment  and  I  look  to  you  to  launch  a  vigorous  and 
effective  protest. " 

"That  really  is  a  very  great  compliment,  Addie. 
Colonel  Broderick  is  one  of  the  leading  citizens  - 
if  not,  indeed,  the  first  citizen  of  Boston.  I  have 
always  been  a  little  afraid  that  he  looked  on  my 
relations  with  him  as  purely  official  and  not  quite  — 
not  wholly  social.  You  see,  your  Bostonians  have 
their  notions  of  such  things,  and  they  are  entitled 
to  what  they  would  themselves  call  their  point  of 
view.  Mrs.  Broderick  is,  even  more  than  he,  the 
New  England  aristocrat,  a  very  cultivated  woman; 
and  she  was  enormously  rich.  It  is  the  greatest 
possible  honour  to  be  asked  to  stay  there.  I  won't 


220  THE   LORDS   OF 

conceal  it  from  you,  Addie,  that  I've  rather  feared 
once  or  twice,  when  I've  been  in  Boston,  that  Brod- 
erick  avoided  asking  me  to  the  house!" 

"Why  should  he?"     asked  Mrs.  Craighill  coldly. 

"Well,  after  all,  I'm  a  W7estern  man,  and  our 
city  has  seemed  —  I  would  confess  it  to  no  one  but 
you  —  to  have  lost  its  early  social  dignity." 

"You  could  hardly  expect  it  to  be  another  Boston 
any  more  than  you  could  make  Paris  of  it." 

"But  now  that  the  invitation  has  come  in  this 
perfectly  cordial  way,  it's  too  bad  they  still  look 
on  me  as  a  widower.  They  certainly  had  cards." 

"Maybe  you  were  not  expected  to  understand; 
it's  merely  a  matter  of  fact."  Her  words  were  accom 
panied  by  a  smile,  so  slight  as  to  be  almost  imper 
ceptible,  and  a  narrowing  of  the  lids  as  she  watched 
and  studied  him. 

"Of  course  they  didn't  know  of  my  marriage; 
you  may  be  sure  it  was  not  by  intention." 

"I  should  say  that  the  invitation  leaves  room  for 
that  doubt.  The  Brodericks  were  certainly  on  the 
list  of  people  to  whom  cards  were  sent;  I  noticed 
the  name  the  other  day  when  I  was  looking  over 
my  calling  book." 

"But,  my  dear  Addie!  What  motive  would  they 
have  for  ignoring  the  fact,  assuming  that  they 
knew  of  my  marriage?" 

'Then,  of  course,  if  it's  an  error,  they  would  be 
grateful  to  have  it  corrected." 

She  started  to  speak  further,  but  bit  her  lip  upon 
a  renunciation  of  the  trip.  She  had  resolved  to 


HIGH   DECISION  221 

see  what  solution  of  the  matter  he  would  himself 
suggest.     He  pondered  a  moment. 

"I  hope  you  won't  misunderstand  me,  Addie, 
but  I  really  don't  quite  see  how  I  could  suggest 
their  asking  you.  In  fact,  it  is  clearly  by  intention 
that  Tarleton  and  I  are  being  brought  together 
there  quietly,  and  while  it's  a  bit  awkward  to  be 
asked  in  this  way  so  shortly  after  our  marriage, 
I  hardly  feel  --  the  Brodericks  being  what  they  are 
and  all  that  —  that  I  ought  to  - 

He  broke  off  with  a  light  laugh  and  a  graceful 
outward  fling  of  the  hands,  in  despair  of  these 
complications. 

"It  would  be  a  pity  for  you  to  miss  the  opportunity 
of  visiting  so  distinguished  a  family --with  Mrs. 
Broderick  being  the  rare  woman  she  is,  and  all 
that!" 

"Of  course  there  is  that  side  of  it,"  he  agreed, 
with  bland  eagerness.  He  did  not  see  that  she 
was  laughing  bitterly  at  him.  "But  I  really  don't 
see  how  that  takes  care  of  you!" 

"  Oh,  you  musn't  think  of  that !  I  should  undoubt 
edly  be  bored  to  death.  I  always  hate  visiting; 
when  I'm  away  from  home  I  much  prefer  going 
to  a  hotel." 

"Well,   I'm  not  thinking  of  myself  so   much  - 
it's  whether  visiting  Broderick  that  way  and  meeting 
Tarleton  in  the  intimate  way  he  suggests,  I  shouldn't 
be  able  to  effect  alliances  of  real  value  in  one  way 
and  another." 

"Why,  of  course,"   she  acquiesced  with  ironical 


'222  THE   LORDS   OF 

readiness.  "It's  a  masculine  affair  entirely;  the 
fewer  women  the  better.  I  know  nothing  of  such 
things,  but  Mrs.  Broderick  is  a  reformer  herself, 
isn't  she?  I  think  I  have  read  her  name  in  the 
newspapers  in  connection  with  meetings  of  various 
kinds  —  I  don't  remember  just  what  it  was --but 
of  course  she  is  interested  in  large  affairs,  and  must 
be  a  great  help  to  her  husband." 

She  broke  off  in  a  pretty  reverie,  wide-eyed  and 
with  lips  parted  —  an  expression  that  marked  a 
fine  shading  of  delicate  mockery.  'You  are  not 
going  there  for  fun,  but  to  aid  your  reform  work." 

"That  is  precisely  it!  I'm  glad  to  see  how  you 
catch  the  spirit  of  the  matter.  If  it  were  not  that 
I  really  believe  I  am  doing  my  little  mite  of  good 
I  should  be  unable  to  justify  myself  in  giving  so 
much  time  to  these  things.  But,  this  is  really 
awkward!  It  is  generous  of  you  to  wish  me  to 
go- 

" Generous?  Nonsense!  It's  a  wife's  first  duty 
to  be  a  help  to  her  husband.  Just  now  it's  impor 
tant  for  you  to  stay  with  the  Brodericks  while  you're 
in  Boston.  I  should  be  only  an  encumbrance " 

"No!     I  can't  allow  you  to  say  that!     It's  merely 

a  matter  of  your  abandoning  the  trip  to " 

'To  help  the  cause!"    she  supplied. 

"I  really  appreciate  this  more  than  I  can  tell 
you,  Addie.  And  in  proof  of  it  I'm  going  to  take 
you  to  Bermuda  for  Easter." 

"No,  indeed!  You  musn't  feel  that  I  have  to  be 
bought  off --that  would  spoil  it  all.  You  go  to 


HIGH   DECISION  223 

Boston  and  get  all  you  can  out  of  the  experience. 
You  must  remember  to  tell  me  just  what  they  have 
for  breakfast,  and  about  Mrs.  Broderick's  gowns." 

"Fancy  me!"    he  laughed. 

He  went  out  with  the  note  in  his  hand  to  telephone 
his  acceptance  to  the  telegraph  office.  When  he 
had  shut  himself  in  with  the  telephone  she  laughed; 
a  light,  mirthless  laugh. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

MRS.    CRAIGHILL   BIDES   AT   HOME 

WAYNE  and  Dick  Wingfield  breakfasted  at 
the  Club  on  the  morning  of  their  return. 
Notwithstanding  Colonel  CraighilPs  skepticism  as 
to  the  purpose  of  their  excursion,  they  had 
really  been  to  Philadelphia  to  a  Mask  and  Wig 
entertainment  of  University  men.  Wingfield  had 
watched  \vith  interest  Wayne's  prolonged  ab 
stinence  and  wondered  whether  it  could  be 
possible  that  his  friend  had  really  reformed. 
Wingfield,  himself  most  abstemious,  had  been 
careful  not  to  place  temptation  in  his  friend's 
way;  and  he  had  taken  Wayne  to  Philadelphia 
the  better  to  keep  track  of  him  at  a  time  when, 
he  knew  by  experience,  Wayne  was  likely  to  make 
one  of  his  mad  plunges. 

They  discussed  the  morning  news  as  they  ate. 

"I  note  that  your  father  has  shot  a  broadside  into 
the  administration  up  at  Boston.  Here  are  a  few 
yards  of  the  speech." 

"Humph!"  grunted  Wayne. 

'Very  likely  you  enjoyed  private  rehearsal  of  the 
oration,  so  it  isn't  new  to  you." 

'You   flatter  me.     Father's   speeches   are   not   a 
subject  of  family  counsel." 

224 


THE   LORDS   OF  HIGH   DECISION 

"I  suppose  Mrs.  Craighill  will  be  a  great  help 
to  your  father  in  his  public  life." 

"It's  possible,"  remarked  Wayne,  buttering  his 
toast.  "She's  getting  her  first  taste  of  reform  now 
and  will,  no  doubt,  go  in  strong  for  such  things 
when  she  gets  back." 

"It  would  be  a  shame  to  reform  this  town;  it 
would  be  so  much  less  interesting  if  it  turned  virtuous. 
Really,  I  think  I  should  leave  the  place  if  it  got 
good.  By  the  way,  how  about  our  friend,  Paddock, 
the  fighting  parson  ?  Did  you  know  that  mother 
has  taken  him  up?  Paddock's  self-sacrifice  and 
devotion  to  humanity  are  on  the  table  daily  at  home 
-  served  hot  with  all  meals." 

"Paddock's  all  right.  He's  a  good  fellow,  but 
he's  overloaded  with  sentimentalism.  I  don't  believe 
I  told  you  I  had  been  out  to  look  at  his  joint  at 
Ironstead." 

'You  did  not,  Mr.  Craighill.  Were  you  ashamed 
of  me,  or  were  you  just  afraid  I'd  contaminate  the 
place?" 

"I  was  afraid  you  would  be  bored.  I  took  some 
risks  myself,  but  it  didn't  seem  decent  to  refuse 
when  I'm  the  oldest  friend  he  has  here.  It  was 
like  the  chap  to  come  to  town  and  bury  himself 
in  the  grime  and  filth  for  six  months  before  I  heard 
of  him.  But  I  went  to  his  religious  vaudeville, 
which  was  rather  below  par  as  shows  go;  but  the 
crowd  was  better  than  the  bill,  and  you  might  say, 
in  classic  phrase,  that  a  pleasant  time  was  had." 

"Recitations,  songs  and  that  kind  of  things?" 


226  THE   LORDS   OF 

"And  a  boxing  match  that  almost  ended  in  a 

riot." 

"Dear  me!  I  must  get  in  on  this  Paddock  wave. 
He  sounds  very  promising.  The  first  thing  we 
know  they'll  be  snatching  him  up  for  heresy  and 
I've  always  wanted  to  know  a  heretic.  It  would 
be  quite  an  experience  to  attend  and  comfort  a 
convicted  heretic  in  his  last  merry  moments  before 
they  chuck  him  into  a  coke  oven  to  sizzle  for  ever 
and  ever." 

Wayne  grinned  at  this  cheerful  forecast  of  Pad 
dock's  immolation. 

"They'd  better  let  Paddock  alone.  He  doesn't 
pretend  to  know  anything  about  theology.  He  has 
a  curious  fancy  that  the  man  beast  can  be  tamed 
by  kindness  and  made  to  feed  from  the  hand.  It's 
this  old  brotherhood-of-man  business  you  read  about 
in  the  magazines." 

"It's  not  unpicturesque  —  a  fellow  with  a  private 
barrel  spending  his  money  that  way.  I  must  get 
him  to  send  in  a  few  bunches  of  his  parishioners 
to  hear  the  orchestra  at  our  expense.  Our  fat 
and  waddling  rich  don't  know  a  symphony  from 
a  canvassed  ham  anyhow.  Our  chief  hope  for 
the  fine  arts  lies  in  people  who  draw  their  dividends 
in  yellow  envelopes  at  the  end  of  a  long,  hungry 
line  of  the  horny-handed.  I'm  disposed  to  think 
Paddock  may  be  deeper  than  appears.  I've 
about  concluded,  myself,  that  the  people  we  know 

-  the  prospering   Philistines  we   see  in  the  clubs 
and   in  each  other's  houses  —  are  a  drearv  rotten 


HIGH   DECISION  227 

bore.  The  human  race  has  really  been  decadent 
ever  since  it  dropped  by  its  tail  from  the  ancestral 
breadfruit  tree  and  wiggled  into  its  first  trousers." 

;'You  feel  that  way  this  morning  because  you 
had  to  dress  in  a  sleeper  without  your  usual  bath. 
A  shower  will  set  you  up.  You're  always  rather 
savage  when  the  luxuries  of  civilization  are  cut  off." 

'You  never  can  tell  when  a  man  is  going  to  need 
the  consolations  of  religion,"  resumed  Wingfield, 
reverting  to  Paddock.  "Here  I  am  turned  into  the 
forties,  which  means  that  I  have  crossed  the 
summit  and  started  down  the  shadowy  side  of  the 
mountain.  My  last  photographs  cost  me  double 
—  such  a  lot  of  retouching  to  keep  me  from  looking 
like  a  wrinkled  monkey.  People  are  beginning  to 
pick  lint  off  of  me  —  a  sure  sign  of  age.  The  seeds 
of  mortal  disease  are  abroad  in  my  system.  At 
night  I  often  hear  a  stealthy  step  behind  —  the 
Ancient  Destroyer  taking  my  measure.  I'm  getting 
on.  My  old  popularity  as  best  man  and  light- 
footed  usher  is  waning  and  I've  passed  from  the 
active  to  the  honorary  pall-bearer  list  —  a  frank  recog 
nition  of  my  senility.  The  jump  from  being  the 
gay  usher  at  a  church  wedding  and  finding  aisle 
seats  for  all  the  prettiest  girls,  to  marching  in  behind 
some  poor  devil  who's  gone  the  long  road  —  it  jolts, 
my  dear  boy!" 

"That's  what  you  get  for  being  so  respectable. 
I  haven't  had  any  chances  to  carry  the  white  ribbons 
since  my  first  year  at  home.  My  social  career 
stopped  abruptly  at  about  3  A.  M.  that  morning 


228  THE   LORDS  OF 

I  cruised  in  from  the  country  in  my  first  motor 
and  hit  a  bread  wagon.'* 

"The  popular  construction  placed  upon  that 
act  always  seemed  most  ungenerous,"  mused  Wing- 
field.  "It  was  a  deed  of  noblest  benevolence,  not 
a  freak  of  inebriety.  They  are  still  picking  up  the 
buns  you  scattered  from  the  Allegheny  bridge  — 
bread  cast  upon  the  waters  turning  up  away  down  at 
New  Orleans!  I  have  always  thought  if  I  were 
to  go  in  for  that  sort  of  thing  I  should  attack  milk 
wagons.  They  say  most  of  our  milk  is  impure 
anyhow." 

"I  suppose,"  Wingfield  continued,  regarding  with 
a  frown  a  speck  of  soot  on  his  cuff-  "I  suppose 
Mrs.  Craighill  will  have  a  good  time  in  Boston 
watching  her  husband  at  his  gambollings  with  the 
saviours  of  the  republic." 

"I  dare  say,"  replied  Wayne,  rising  and  looking 
at  his  watch.  "Which  reminds  me  that  I  must 
go  up  to  the  office  and  sit  on  the  lid." 

Wingfield  rose  at  once.  Wayne's  recent  attend 
ance  upon  his  office  had  puzzled  him.  Sobriety 
and  industry,  as  practised  by  Wayne  Craighill, 
offered  food  for  reflection ;  he  was  afraid  to  comment 
upon  this  new  course  in  the  usual  terms  of  their 
raillery;  he  refrained  from  remarking  upon  it  at 
all  for  fear  of  breaking  the  charm  —  whatever  it 
might  be  —  that  had  effected  this  change  in  his 
friend.  He  stood  at  the  window  of  the  reading- 
room  and  watched  Wayne  disappear  toward  the 
Craighill  building. 


HIGH   DECISION 

At  noon  Joe  reported  at  the  Craighill  offices, 
having  brought  the  car  down  ostensibly  to  carry 
Wayne's  bag  to  the  house,  but  in  reality  to  make 
sure  that  his  employer  had  returned  in  good  order. 

"I  guess  I'll  run  up  to  the  house  with  you  and 
get  some  clean  clothes,  Joe.  I'll  be  down  in  a 
minute." 

Joe,  satisfied  by  his  inspection,  lingered  a  moment 
at  the  door. 

"Well?"  demanded  Wayne,  glancing  up   again. 

"The  widder's  home,  sir!" 

"The  what?" 

"The  widder  —  Mrs.  Craighill  —  she's  home." 

This  was  Wayne's  first  acquaintance  with  a  nick 
name  bestowed  upon  Mrs.  Craighill  by  Joe,  and 
derived,  it  appeared,  from  Joe's  pretended  belief 
that  a  wToman  who  marries  a  widower  becomes  a 
widow. 

"Home?     When  did  she  get  home?" 

"Oh,  she  never  went!  She'd  brought  her  trunk 
to  her  room  to  pack  but  passed  it  up." 

"That  will  do,  Joe." 

As  the  door  closed,  Wayne  threw  himself  back 
in  his  chair  and  stared  out  at  the  blurred  sky.  There 
was  no  question  but  that  his  father  had  intended 
to  take  Mrs.  Craighill  with  him;  the  matter  had 
been  s'poken  of  several  times  in  his  hearing;  his 
father  had  called  the  proposed  visit  their  wedding 
journey;  and  when  he  left  home  there  had  certainly 
been  no  change  in  his  father's  plans.  Nothing  but 
illness  could  account  for  it,  as  Mrs.  Craighill  had 


230  THE  LORDS   OF 

been  too  short  a  time  in  the  city  to  be  subject  to 
sudden  and  imperative  social  demands.  He  pushed 
a  button  and  asked  the  chief  clerk  what  address 
his  father  had  left.  It  was  brought  to  him  on  a 
tablet  in  Colonel  Craighill's  own  handwriting:  "Care 
Colonel  Winthrop  Broderick,  Beacon  Street,  Boston." 

On  the  same  sheet  another  address  had  been 
written  and  scratched  out,  but  it  could  be  read: 
Hotel  Beverly. 

Wayne  laid  the  tablet  on  the  desk  before  him  and 
studied  it  with  care  for  a  moment,  then  a  dawning 
consciousness  of  what  had  happened  caused  him 
to  strike  the  table  with  his  clenched  hand. 

"  Great  Lord,  he's  ashamed  of  her!"  he  ejaculated, 
so  loudly  that  he  turned  guiltily  and  glanced  about 
to  make  sure  that  he  was  alone.  The  situation  visual 
ized  itself  sharply  before  him.  Broderick  was  a 
name  eloquent  of  wealth  and  social  distinction.  He 
had  known  one  of  the  sons  of  the  house  at  the 
'Tech."  The  roots  of  the  Brodericks  struck  deep 
into  New  England  soil.  Wayne  had  often  heard 
his  father  call  Colonel  Broderick  the  ideal  American 
citizen;  a  Harvard  overseer  high  in  the  councils  of 
the  University;  spokesman  for  his  city  on  many 
notable  occasions ;  author  of  a  history  of  his  regiment, 
and  patron  of  arts  and  letters.  The  Bostonian 
was  everything  that  Colonel  Craighill  would  like 
to  be.  It  was  utterly  incredible  that  the  Brodericks 
would  invite  a  man  to  their  house  whose  wife  was 
unacceptable;  nor  was  it  a  plausible  theory  that 
Mrs.  Craighill  would,  on  her  own  motion,  abandon 


HIGH   DECISION  231 

a  journey  that  promised  pleasure  after  its  attractive 
ness  had  been  enhanced  by  an  invitation  which 
in  tself  conferred  distinction.  He  had  not  read 
social  ambition  into  Adelaide  Craighill's  scheme  of 
life;  what  she  had  married  for,  he  had  honestly 
felt,  was  shelter  and  protection;  but  she  was  young, 
and  to  be  pardoned  a  degree  of  social  curiosity. 
She  had  shown  no  disposition  to  advance  herself 
adventitiously,  but  here  was  her  first  opportunity 
to  try  her  palate  upon  the  unaccustomed  fruits  of 
her  new  life.  As  he  pondered,  with  a  deep  frown 
on  his  face,  he  saw  the  arc  of  his  own  opportunity 
broaden.  His  father's  wife  had  already  turned  to 
him  once  for  sympathy;  and  the  possibilities  of 
sympathy  in  such  a  situation  -  -  the  bright  line  of 
danger,  its  hazards  and  penalties  —  fascinated  him 
as  he  dwelt  upon  the  prospect.  As  an  anodyne  to 
his  conscience  he  dwelt  upon  the  humiliating  plight 
of  his  father's  wife,  young,  not  without  her  charms 
and  with  a  right  to  the  enjoyment  of  life,  put  aside 
as  though  she  were  a  troublesome  child.  It  was 
his  own  chivalry,  he  assured  himself,  that  rose  in 
arms  to  her  defense. 

He  drew  the  top  down  upon  the  disorder  of  his 
desk  and  was  soon  whirling  homeward. 

Mrs.  Craighill  sat  in  her  upstairs  sitting  room, 
sewing.  A  wood  fire  crackled  cosily;  about  her 
were  the  countless  trifles  with  which  a  woman  invites 
comfort  and  ease.  The  impression  of  smartness 
that  Mrs.  Craighill  always  gave  was  not  lacking 


232  THE  LORDS   OF 

to-day.  It  may  be  inferred  that  she  knew  her  own 
decorative  values.  The  subdued  blue  of  her  gown 
matched  the  wallpaper  —  or  seemed  to.  Her  deli 
cate  features,  the  soft  curve  of  her  cheek,  her  fair 
round  arms,  free  from  the  elbow,  the  careful  disposi 
tion  of  her  hair,  swept  high  from  her  forehead,  were 
items  calculated  to  charm  any  eye.  She  turned  her 
head  a  trifle,  hearing  a  motor  in  the  driveway  below, 
and  her  hands  fell  to  her  lap  with  the  bit  of  needle 
work  she  was  engaged  upon.  When  the  car  passed 
on  to  the  garage  she  resumed  her  work,  bending 
her  head  so  that  her  neck  presented  its  prettiest 
arch  to  the  open  door.  She  hummed  softly  as  she 
heard  Wayne's  step  drawing  near.  When  his  voice 
sounded  behind  her  she  did  not  turn,  but  held  up 
one  hand,  and  waved  it,  calling  a  careless,  familiar 
"hello"  to  his  own  greeting. 

He  walked  to  the  fire  and  swung  round,  facing 
her,  his  hands  thrust  in  his  pockets. 

"Well?" 

"I  didn't  expect  you  home  for  luncheon.  How 
did  you  leave  Philadelphia?" 

"Oh,  I  left  it  with  pleasure;   the  usual  way." 

"I  suppose  the  amusing  Mr.  Wingfield  took  good 
care  of  you  ?" 

"He  did.  He's  an  exemplary  person.  He  took 
me  to  call  on  his  mother's  relations  —  all  a  thousand 
years  old  —  which  is  hardly  what  might  be  called 
devilish." 

She  continued  to  bend  with  a  pretty  gravity  to 
her  work,  while  he  watched  her,  amused  at  the 


HIGH   DECISION  233 

pains  she  took  to  ignore  the  fact  that  there  was  any 
thing  remarkable  in  her  being  in  the  house;  then  he 
laughed  and  stood  close  beside  her,  taking  one  of 
her  hands.  She  caught  it  away  quickly  and  nodded 
toward  a  seat,  continuing  to  affect  absorption. 

"Sit  down,  won't  you?  I'm  very,  very  busy,  and 
this  is  most  particular  work;  if  I  should  make  a 
mistake  - 

He  obeyed,  studying  her  with  pleasure  shining 
in  his  eyes  for  a  moment  of  silence,  then  broke  out 
laughing. 

"Sh-h!"  She  laid  a  ringer  on  her  lips,  with  a 
slight  inclination  of  her  head  toward  the  door. 

"Did  you  tell  them  downstairs  that  you  would 
be  here  for  luncheon  ?  Then  ring  for  Annie  and 
I'll  send  word." 

Until  this  was  done  she  continued  her  refusal 
to  meet  his  eyes.  She  inquired  of  the  maid  as  to 
whether  Mr.  Wayne's  room  was  in  order,  and  when 
the  girl  had  gone  she  dropped  her  needle  and  said 
carelessly,  as  though  the  matter  were  of  the  lightest 
importance : 

"I  had  a  cold  and  thought  I'd  better  not  risk  the 
trip  to  Boston.  You  know  I'm  not  used  to  this 
fly-by-night  sleeping-car  travel." 

"Indeed?  It's  very  unfortunate  that  you  were 
obliged  to  deny  yourself  so  great  a  pleasure.  I 
thought  you  were  not  subject  to  colds!" 

"I  suppose  it's  the  change  of  climate  —  coming 
here  so  far  inland.  They  say  it  does  make  a  great 
difference." 


234  THE   LORDS   OF 

"But  this  is  an  unusually  open  winter;  it's  per 
fectly  delightful  outdoors  to-day.  And  the  sky 
would  be  blue  if  you  could  see  it." 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  the  window  to  verify  his 
statement. 

"I  suppose,"  he  said,  without  changing  the  key 
of  their  dialogue,  "that  we  could  keep  this  up  for 
several  days  if  it  seemed  necessary." 

"I  think  so  myself!"  she  affirmed;  "it  would 
be  interesting  to  see  how  long  one  could  go  on  being 
perfectly  stupid.  It's  a  great  resource,  talking 
stupid  talk." 

"The  only  trouble  is  that  it's  such  a  waste  of 
time.  There  are  so  many  interesting  things  to  say!" 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  would  say  them?  Ho\v 
very  odd!" 

She  threaded  a  needle,  with  the  pretty  solicitude, 
the  graceful,  bird-like  intentness  with  which  a  woman 
performs  this  slightest  office,  and  he  was  aware 
of  his  joy  in  the  nimbleness  of  her  fingers,  and 
their  steadiness  as  they  answered  the  quick  search 
ing  of  her  eyes  with  the  point  of  thread. 

"Would  you  rather  not  refer  to  it  at  all?"  he 
asked. 

"Oh,  my  not  going?  Why  should  anything  be 
said  about  a  matter  that  has  already  been  fully 
explained  ?  You  are  a  man ;  you  have  been  on  a 
journey;  you  have  been  down  in  the  city  all  morn 
ing;  have  you  nothing  to  say  to  an  unfortunate 
slave,  who  has  been  shut  up  here  with  her  needle 
three  long  days?" 


HIGH   DECISION  235 

"The  slavery  of  the  needle  is  too  satisfying 
a  spectacle  in  itself  to  admit  of  any  coarser  topic. 
I  should  judge"  -  and  he  bent  nearer  -  -  "I  should 
judge,  if  my  dull  masculine  eye  is  competent  to 
pass  on  such  a  thing,  that  your  industry  has  been 
of  rather  recent  date.  You  hadn't  been  at  work 
on  that  thing  all  morning." 

"Oh,  no!  But  I  have  had  ever  so  many  other 
things  to  do  this  morning;  this  is  a  large  establish 
ment  and  the  housekeeping  —  the  making  sure 
that  there  is  sugar  for  the  coffee  and  coffee  for  the 
sugar  —  takes  a  lot  of  time." 

"One  has  always  the  neighbours  in  case  of  short 
age.  If  your  abandonment  of  the  Boston  excursion 
is  a  painful  topic,  we  will  drop  it.  Besides,  I  know 
the  real  reason  you  didn't  go." 

"Is  it  possible?  Then  you  ought  to  give  mind- 
reading  exhibitions.  I've  begged  Fanny  to  teach 
me  how  to  do  table  tipping;  I've  heard  that  she's 
a  wonder  at  it;  and  they  say  it  runs  in  families." 

"Have  you  seen  Fanny  ?" 

"Why,  no!  I  dare  say  she  imagines  I  went  away. 
The  newspapers  had  it  that  I  had  gone,  and  of 
course  they  are  always  right." 

"Of  course  she  will  find  it  out;  Fanny  knows 
everything!" 

"I  hadn't  thought  of  telling  her;  it  seemed  to  me 
that  this  was  a  fine  chance  to  get  a  rest  —  to 
play  at  leading  a  very,  very  lonely  life,  not  letting 
any  one  know  I  am  here  by  myself." 

"But  that  has  lost  its  point,  now  that  I  am  here. 


236  THE   LORDS   OF 

The  king  has  gone  a-hunting;  the  prince  --  if  I 
may  so  honour  myself  -  -  has  come  to  defend  the 
citadel.  How  do  you  like  that  way  of  putting  it?" 

"I  don't  think  I  care  for  it.  The  citadel  doesn't 
need  defending.  When  the  king  comes  riding  home 
he  will  find  the  drawbridge  up  and  the  water  in 
the  moat  as  quiet  and  peaceful  as  when  he  thundered 
forth  to  war." 

"But   the   lady    in    the   tower  —  what    of    her?" 

"She'll  be  knitting  --just  as  the  king  left  her." 

"Admirable!" 

She  rose  suddenly,  wearie  1  of  this  banter,  flung 
her  sewing  aside  and  ran  from  the  room. 

When  she  came  down  to  luncheon  her  mood  was 
high.  She  led  the  talk  into  many  channels,  but 
dwelt  chiefly  upon  matters  remote  and  unrelated. 
His  being  there,  he  was  well  aware,  was  something 
that  the  servants  would  not  overlook  any  more 
than  Mrs.  CraighilPs  detention  — when  all  hacl 
known  of  the  projected  journey  —  would  pass 
unremarked  by  the  shrewd  eyes  of  the  back 
stairs.  A  sense  of  this  scrutiny,  and  of  their  being 
there  together,  gave  zest  to  the  propinquity  of  the 
luncheon  table.  It  was  an  addendum  to  the  supper 
they  had  eaten  together  on  the  night  Colonel  Craig- 

**  O  o  O 

hill  sought  seclusion  for  the  writing  of  his  speech;  it 
had  the  same  quality  of  a  clandestine  pleasure, 
but  with  the  element  of  fear  eliminated.  Wayne 
did  not  question  that  she  had  counted  on  his  coming, 
any  more  than  he  doubted  the  impulse  that  had 
led  him  home  at  this  unusual  hour.  His  senses 


HIGH   DECISION  237 

tingled  with  the  delight  of  facing  her  thus  at  the  table. 
She  poured  the  tea  with  which,  she  said,  she  always 
cheered  herself  at  noon.  He  met  her  eyes  at  intervals , 
eager  for  the  smile  that  rose,  beyond  question,  from 
a  happy  heart. 

In  the  library,  where  he  followed  her,  she  continued 
to  talk  gaily  while  he  smoked. 

"Well,"  she  said  after  half  an  hour,  " don't  let 
me  keep  you.  It  must  be  time  for  you  to  go  back; 
though  I  suppose  you  stay  at  the  Club  all  afternoon 
when  you  lunch  there." 

"I  don't  hear  the  call  of  business  shouting  very 
loud." 

"Oh,  of  course  you  must  go  back;  it  would  never 
do  for  you  to  stay  here!  That  would  make  it  neces 
sary  for  me  to  go  away --to  Fanny's  —  or  any 
where." 

"I  don't  see  why  we  shouldn't  sit  here  and  talk 
all  afternoon  if  we  want  to.  We  are  at  home  here; 
we  can  do  as  we  like." 

"Oh,  no,  we  can't.  That  is  exactly  what  we 
can't  do." 

"But  if  you  were  to  do  as  you  like  what  would 
you  propose?" 

"Taking  a  long  walk  in  the  country  —  I  think  that 
would  be  splendid.  But  I  should  have  to  go  alone." 

"I  have  a  better  plan:  take  the  car  and  go  into 
the  country  —  then  walk !  There's  no  fun  in  walking 
in  town.  The  roads  are  frozen,  so  there's  no  mud. 
We  could  take  a  hamper  and  have  a  picnic." 

She  eyed  him  with  incredulous  amusement. 


238  THE   LORDS   OF 

"I  thought  you  were  a  bright  young  man,  and 
yet  you  propose  that?  We  should  undoubtedly 
meet  our  pastor  and  all  the  elders  in  our  church 
and  I'm  not  a  bit  anxious  to  scandalize  the  commu 
nity.  We'd  look  nice  motoring  out  the  front  gate 
together!" 

"There  are  more  ways  than  one  of  reaching  the 
wildwood.  I  should  take  the  machine  myself,  and 
start  toward  town;  you  would  lightly  board  the 
trolley  and  ride  to  the  end  of  the  line;  and  then 
what  would  be  more  natural  than  that  I  should 
pick  you  up?" 

'That's  a  delightful  plan -- ingenious  and  all 
that;  but,  my  dear  boy  —  suppose  we  should  get 
smashed  in  the  machine;  then  how  would  it  look 
in  the  newspapers  ?  " 

"It  would  look  very  well  in  the  Boston  papers 
to-morrow  morning,"  he  said  watching  her  narrowly. 
"It  would  serve  notice  on  the  Brodericks  of  your 
existence,  which  it  is  only  polite  to  assume  has  not 
otherwise  been  brought  to  their  attention." 

;'What  else  do  you  know?"   she   asked. 

"Oh,  I  know  nothing.  I'm  only  guessing.  As 
you  say,  I'm  something  of  a  mind-reader.  They'd 
probably  forgotten  that  there  is  a  Mrs.  Craighill; 
they  invited  the  Colonel  to  their  house;  he  thought 
it  might  be  awkward  to  have  to  bring  Mrs.  Craig- 
hill  into  it  —  to  ask  to  have  her  included  in  the 
invitation  —  they  being  so  eminent  —  so  Mrs. 
Craighill,  being  the  most  amiable  of  wives,  stays 
at  home  and  knits!" 


HIGH  DECISION  239 

"That  does  very  well  for  an  amateur." 

"But  what  young  woman  of  spirit"  -he  assumed 
an  oratorical  manner  that  suggested  his  father's 
way  of  discoursing  upon  large  topics  —  "what 
young  woman  of  spirit,  I  ask,  left  forlorn  with  her 
knitting,  would  tamely  submit  to  being  snubbed? 
Does  she  not  owe  it  so  herself,  to  her  womanhood  — 
to  the  sex  we  all  revere  and  love  —  to  show  her 
resentment  and  seek  in  any  fashion  that  may  please 
her  the  solace  of  companionship,  the  consolation  of 
Nature!" 

She  laughed  with  guarded  mirth  at  this  imitation 
of  her  husband.  He  had  drawn  close  to  her,  and 
he  bent  down  and  took  her  hands. 

'You  will  go,  won't  you?  It  will  be  just  like 
those  old  times  - 

"Please  don't!  Run  away  and  stand  over  there, 
and  I'll  tell  you  whether  I  like  your  plan  or  not." 

When  he  had  posted  himself  by  the  window,  as 
far  away  as  possible,  she  rose  and  went  to  the  door, 
where  she  stood  debating  archly  and  watching  him, 
biting  her  lip,  tapping  the  floor  lightly  with  her 
foot,  her  eyes  dreamily  bent  upon  him. 

"If  you  will  be  good  —  very,  very  good  —  I 
think  I  shouldn't  mind!" 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  SNOW-STORM  AT  ROSED  ALE 

YOU  haven't  seen  the  country  yet ;  we  will  take 
a  run  for  the  hills,"  he  said  when  he  had  picked 
her  up.  "I  might  have  brought  my  little  racer,  but 
this  machine  is  more  dignified.  Besides,  with  the 
tonneau  curtains  drawn  we  look  like  a  large  party." 

They  rode  in  silence  at  first  but  their  spirits  rose 
with  the  rapid  flight  and  the  joy  of  freedom.  They 
skirted  Stanwixley  and  were  soon  speeding  over 
the  hills.  She  wore  a  pretty  fur  toque  and  when  the 
wind  began  to  whip  her  free  hair,  he  begged  her  not 
to  tie  on  the  veil  she  had  brought,  lest  it  spoil  the 
jaunty  effect  of  the  cap,  in  which,  he  assured  her,  she 
looked  only  seventeen.  Their  flight  into  the  open 
took  colour  from  this  thought  of  their  youth,  dancing 
alluringly  before  them  over  unreckoned  miles  to  a 
goal  where  all  was  possible  and  all  unknown.  It  had 
been  unseasonably  warm  at  noon,  but  the  wind  blew 
more  coldly  as  the  afternoon  advanced.  Dark 
clouds  were  massing  in  the  West;  the  storm  spirit, 
having  ranged  the  plains  and  prairies  of  the  farther 
West,  was  now  preparing  to  pile  its  snow  in  the 
Appalachian  valleys. 

"How  would  a  snow-storm  strike  you?  We're 
likely  to  catch  one  before  the  day's  over." 

240 


THE   LORDS   OF  HIGH  DECISION  241 

They  were  climbing  a  hill  and  as  the  heavy 
machine  gained  the  windy  top  and  a  long,  clear 
stretch  of  highway  spread  before  them  he  looked  at 
her  and  asked: 

"This  road  leads  round  the  world  —  why  should 
we  ever  go  back?" 

"Because  we  are  not  utterly  silly,  and  we  are  not 
going  to  lose  our  minds,  I  hope."  But  she  laughed, 
as  much  as  to  say  that  nothing  really  mattered. 
"I'm  hungry.  It  seems  to  me  you  promised  sand 
wiches.  If  you  did,  I'm  dying  for  food;  if  you 
didn't  bring  them,  then  I'm  not  hungry!" 

"I  like  your  philosophy.  You'd  be  a  good  girl 
to  seek  the  happy  isles  with  —  you  wouldn't  cry  if 
you  got  your  feet  wet,  or  were  lost  on  a  desert  island, 
or  anything  like  that." 

"I  hope  not  --  but  you  never  can  tell.  I  mustn't 
get  the  crying  habit  —  nothing  ages  one  so  fast/' 

"I  think  we'd  better  turn  round  unless  we  really 
expect  to  be  gone  forever  —  I'm  willing  if  you  are. 
As  to  the  sandwiches,  I  have  a  little  surprise  in  store 
for  you.  It's  too  cold  to  picnic  out-of-doors  —  how 
would  a  fire  and  something  hot  strike  you?" 

"Tea  —  most  delightful  of  thoughts!  But  these 
farmhouses  don't  look  inviting." 

"That's  where  the  surprise  comes  in.  We'll 
run  into  the  Rosedale  Country  Club  and  maybe 
we  can  get  a  fire  to  take  the  chill  off  before  we  go 
home.  You've  never  seen  Rosedale;  it's  the  best 
thing  we  do  in  country  clubs." 

They  were  soon  speeding  over  a  private  road  that 


THE   LORDS   OF 

led  through  a  heavy  woodland,  skirting  a  ravine. 
The  woodland  yielded  at  once  to  a  golf  course  at 
their  left,  stretching  across  a  gray  upland.  Its 
targets  suggested  the  lost  banners  of  a  deserted 
battlefield,  and  a  long  bunker  midway  of  the  slope 
the  desolate  grave  of  defeated  battalions.  They 
climbed  a  hill  with  the  vale  deepening  at  their  right 
hand  and  an  abrupt  turn  brought  the  club-house  into 
view,  its  white-pillared  fa9ade  greeting  the  eye  with 
suggestions  of  domestic  taste  and  comfort.  A  man 
appeared  instantly  as  though  he  were  expecting  them, 
and  flung  open  the  door  of  a  large  lounging  room 
where  a  great  log  fire  crackled  cheerily.  A  table 
had  been  set  for  two  directly  before  the  hearth,  and 
while  they  were  throwing  off  their  wraps  the  man 
brought  a  tea  tray  with  sandwiches  and  cakes. 

'You  see,"  said  Wayne,  rubbing  his  hands  before 
the  flames,  "all  the  comforts  of  home  were  to  be 
had  for  the  trouble  of  a  telephone  message.  Ah, 
look  at  that!" 

A  snow-storm  had  sprung  into  being  without  the 
snow's  usual  tentative  experiments,  and  the  wind 
was  driving  a  feathery  cloud  across  the  landscape. 
At  the  ravine's  edge  below  the  veranda  a  few  scarlet 
leaves  clung  bravely  to  the  sumac  bushes,  their  colour 
flaming  in  the  whirling  snow.  Mrs.  Craighill  turned 
with  a  contented  little  sigh  from  the  windows  to  the 
room's  comfort  and  cheer.  Their  adventure,  too, 
gained  fresh  quality  from  the  sense  of  security  com 
municated  by  the  handsome  room.  Rosedale  was 
a  small  and  exclusive  organization  which,  even  at 


HIGH   DECISION  243 

its  busiest  season,  gave  its  members  almost  the 
seclusion  of  a  private  house.  Mrs.  Craigliill  left 
the  fire  to  inspect  some  of  the  etchings  on  the  walls 
and  came  back  to  the  seat  Wayne  placed  for  her  at 
the  table,  shivering  from  her  plunge  into  the  arctic 
circle  that  lay  beyond  the  reach  of  the  fire. 

"There  doesn't  seem  to  be  anybody  else  here;  is 
it  really  all  our  very  own?" 

"Do  you  want  me  to  answer  yes  or  no?"  he 
laughed.  "You  saw  the  caretaker;  he's  always  here 
and  he  has  a  wTife  around  somewhere.  We  are 
chaperoned,  if  that's  what  you  mean." 

"But  other  people  might  come  at  any  time.  Do  you 
think  anybody  else  is  as  perfectly  deliciously  crazy 
as  we  are?" 

She  surveyed  the  table  with  satisfaction  and  began 
filling  the  tea-pot  from  the  kettle  that  hummed  over 
the  alcohol  flames. 

"Well,  if  anyone  comes  we  won't  let  them  in - 
that's  all!     Possession  is  ten  points  of  the  law  in  this 
case.     I  thought  of  it  first  and  anybody  else  will  be 
treated  as  an  intruder." 

"But  at  the  rate  it's  snowing  we  may  never  get 
home!" 

"Well,"  he  said,  nibbling  a  sandwich,  "why 
should  we?" 

"There  is  that  question,  of  course!  You  will  have 
tea,  won't  you?" 

The  man  now  brought  cups  of  hot  bouillon  which, 
Mrs.  Craighill  declared,  lifted  their  luncheon  out  of  the 

o 

plane  of  commonplace  teas  into  the  realm  of  banquets. 


244  THE   LORDS   OF 

"Will  you  have  something  to  drink,  sir?"  asked 
the  servant. 

Wayne  glanced  quickly  at  Mrs.  Craighill. 

"You  can  have  champagne,  buttermilk  —  any 
thing.  The  cellar  is  excellent.  I  stocked  it  myself." 

"No;  we  will  have  nothing,"  she  answered  with 
decision,  and  when  they  had  dismissed  the  man, 
Wayne  looked  at  her  and  smiled  as  he  stirred 
his  tea. 

"I  haven't  tasted  a  drop  since  you  came.  Do  you 
know  why?" 

"No;  I  really  haven't  an  idea,"  she  replied  with 
an  assumption  of  careless  interest.  She  knew  what 
he  wished  to  say;  she  entertained  no  delusions  as 
to  his  sincerity;  but  she  wished  him  to  say  it.  There 
was  tenderness  in  his  manner  and  tone  as  he  bent 
toward  her. 

"I  did  it  for  you,  Addie.  It  was  because  you  came 
back  into  my  life.  I  had  been  going  a  wicked  gait; 
in  another  year  I  should  have  been  all  in.  But  the 
night  father  showed  me  your  picture  and  I  knew  it 
was  you  he  was  going  to  marry,  I  made  a  resolution 
never  to  drink  again.  I  have  been  doing  pretty  well, 
haven't  I?" 

"It  has  been  fine  of  you;  I  appreciate  it;  I  thank 
you  for  it." 

"I  realized  perfectly  why  it  was  that  you  were 
coming  —  why  you  were  going  to  marry  my  father. 
I  had  known  that  there  must  come  a  time  when  your 
relations  with  your  mother  would  become  intolerable. 
I  knew  that  you  had  to  escape  from  her.  If  you  had 


HIGH   DECISION  245 

to  be  sacrificed  I  was  glad  chance  was  sending  you 
my  way  that  I  might  make  it  all  easier  for  you.  Your 
plight  —  the  thought  of  a  girl  like  you  being  hawked 
about  —  was  hideous.  I  ought  to  have  seen  that, 
that  summer  we  first  knew  each  other;  but  I  punished 
myself  and  I  hope  you  felt  it  too,  when  I  thought 
it  was  your  mother  that  I  was  revenging  myself  on. 
And  now,  Addie,"  he  concluded  spaciously,  "I  want 
you  to  be  happy." 

'You  are  a  dear  boy,"  she  murmured. 

She  did  not  interrupt  him  with  the  hundred  ques 
tions  that  thronged  into  her  mind.  He  was  giving 
his  own  twist  to  the  facts  of  their  earlier  relationship 
and  his  own  escape  from  her  mother's  net;  but  she 
correctly  surmised  that  he  was  deceiving  himself 
and  she  was  in  a  mood  to  aid  and  abet  deception. 
She  had  drunk  her  tea  and  rested  her  arms  on  the 
table,  urging  him  on  with  her  eyes.  The  flame 
had  warmed  her  cheeks  to  a  bright  colour  and  was 
finding  and  brightening  the  bronze  in  her  hair. 

"You  deserve  the  best;  you  have  a  right  to  happi 
ness,"  he  went  on.  "I  mean  to  stand  between  you 
and  unhappiness." 

:<You  are  very  good  to  me,  Wayne!" 

He  placed  his  hand  lightly  on  hers  that  lay  near  — 
and  removed  it  instantly,  afraid  to  risk  too  much. 
"That  first  afternoon,  when  I  went  home  just  to  see 
you,  it  was  because  my  old  feeling  for  you  had  risen 
in  me  strong  at  the  sight  of  you  again.  When  you 
begged  me  to  let  you  alone  that  day,  I  obeyed  you. 
You  had  come  with  fine  ideals  of  your  duty  and  an 


246  THE   LORDS   OF 

ambition  to  fill  your  place  in  my  father's  house  worth 
ily.  You  wanted  to  live  up  to  his  own  dignity.  I 
saw  all  that." 

She  nodded  her  head  once  or  twice  at  the  soothing 
combination  of  praise  and  sympathy.  She  waited 
for  what  further  he  had  to  say  with  confidence  that 
it  would  be  agreeable  to  hear.  It  was  apparent  that 
he  had  deliberately  made  this  opportunity;  he  had 
planned  their  ride  with  this  bright,  glowing  hearth 
as  its  goal;  and  she  experienced  the  pleasurable 
sense  of  being  a  figure  in  a  little  drama,  herself  its 
chief  character,  with  a  setting  of  the  stage  at  once 
adequate  and  satisfying. 

He  had  always  been  plausible  with  women  and 
he  was  playing  the  situation  for  what  it  was 
worth.  He  could  almost  believe  in  his  own  sincerity. 
He  was  conscious  that  he  was  managing  the  affair 
well;  he  even  enjoyed  his  own  speeches  which  he 
uttered  so  glibly  that  he  wondered  at  his  fluency. 

"The  appeal  you  made  to  me  that  first  afternoon 
did  you  credit;  it  was  like  you.  A  man  of  iron  could 
not  have  failed  to  be  touched  by  what  you  said  to  me. 
I  knew  as  no  one  else  in  town  ever  could  know  what 
you  were  trying  to  escape,  and  how  you  had  set  up 
my  father  as  a  splendid  big  god  to  worship.  He  was 
to  be  your  strength  and  your  refuge,  and  you  were 
horror-struck  at  the  thought  of  our  going  back  to  our 
old  basis.  I  wanted  to  make  love  to  you  and  you  would 
not  have  it.  I  felt  the  scorn  you  heaped  on  me  - 
it  burned  me  like  hot  coals,  but  I  waited;  I  waited 
because  I  knew  the  time  would  come  when  you  would 


HIGH   DECISION  247 

want  and  need  me.  I  knew  how  it  would  be  because 
I,  too,  had  knelt  before  the  same  glittering  god.  I'm 
going  to  be  honest  about  all  this :  at  first  I  thought  it 
was  your  mother  who  had  cheated  him,  and  I  was 
glad  of  it;  then  I  saw  that  it  was  the  other  way  around 
-  that  you  had  been  deceived  and  cheated,  and  that 
you  would  have  to  pay  for  it.  When  I  saw  that  that 
was  the  way  of  it,  and  that  you  were  trusting  him  to 
end  your  long  campaign  against  the  world,  my  sym 
pathy  went  out  to  you,  and  all  my  old  feeling  for  you 
came  back.  You  were  never  so  precious  to  me  as 
you  are  to-day  —  no  one  ever  meant  to  me  what  you 
mean.  You  are  dear  to  me,  dearer  and  more  prec 
ious  than  any  words  can  tell  you,  Addie." 

He  had  spoken  rapidly,  in  a  low  vibrant  voice. 
She  made  no  reply,  but  turned  her  head  slightly 
away;  but  when  he  again  touched  her  hand  she 
suffered  him  to  hold  it;  it  slipped  into  his  palm  and 
rested  there  at  the  table's  edge. 

"I  understood  that  whole  matter  of  your  changed 
decision  about  going  to  Boston.  It  was  so  perfectly 
plain  that  it  was  funny.  Father  didn't  want  you  to 
go  to  the  Brodericks.  To  put  it  plainly,  he's  the 
rankest  kind  of  snob.  He  was  a  little  bit  afraid  you 
weren't  quite  up  to  their  level.  He  had  been  crazy 
for  years  to  be  invited  there,  and  the  chance  was  not 
to  be  missed.  He  would  have  thrown  over  my 
own  mother  in  the  same  fashion  if  he  had  played  at 
being  a  great  reformer  in  her  day.  I  remember, 
when  I  was  a  child,  that  Fanny  and  I  used  to  play 
with  two  dolls  we  called  king  and  queen,  and  we  sat 


248  THE   LORDS   OF 

them  up  on  a  throne  and  worshipped  them;   but  the 
king  sprang  a  leak  one  day  and  the  sawdust  came 
out  and  that  was  the  end  of  the  king  business  for 
me.     I  was  about  fifteen  when  I  began  to  find  out 
that  father  was  stuffed  with  sawdust.     It  came  about 
from  his  title  of  Colonel.     A  lot  of  us  boys  were 
bragging  one  day  about  what  our  fathers  had  done 
in  the  Civil  War  and  I  had  silenced  the  other  young 
sters  by  announcing  that  my  father  was  so  brave 
that  he  had  been  made  a  colonel,  and  one  of  the  others 
came  back  at  me  the  next  day  with  news  he  had  got 
at  home  that  my  father  had  never  been  in  the  war  at 
all  —  and  it  was  true!     And  all  this  philanthropic 
work  and  these  meetings  he  addresses  so  beautifully 
-  it  all  comes  of  the  cheapest  kind  of  vanity.     It 
isn't  the  thing  itself  he's  interested  in;  it's  his  own 
name  in  the  newspapers,  the  glory  of  his  after-dinner 
speeches  at  the  Waldorf,  and  quiet  committee  meet 
ings  at  Old  Point  Comfort  about  the  time  the  shad 
are  beginning  to  run,  and  when  it's  nice  and  com 
fortable  to  meet  the  spring  down  there,  and  issue 
open  letters  to  presidents  and  governors  about  any 
old  thing,  just  so  it's  far  enough  away  from  home. 
When  they  come  round  and  ask  father  to  go  in  for 
reform   in    Pittsburg   he   can't   hear   them   talking; 
he    sympathizes    with    the    work,    and    is    annoyed 
when  the  muck-raker    writes  us  up,  but    press  of 
other    affairs    prevents    him,    and    so    forth.     The 
fact  is  that  he's  a  coward  when  it  comes  to  getting 
out  on  the  firing  line  to  be  shot  at.     He  wants  the 
Indians  in  Wyoming  to  be  protected  and  the  Negro 


HIGH  DECISION  249 

to  be  educated,  but  he's  afraid  to  go  up  against  the 
gang  at  home.  With  cowardice  and  vanity  as  the 
chief  elements  of  his  character  —  bah!  you  see  it 
all  --  you  don't  need  to  go  into  the  case  any  deeper. 
You  thought  you  were  solving  all  your  problems 
by  marrying  a  fine,  chivalrous  gentleman,  respected 
and  admired  by  all  the  world,  but  you  have  already 
got  a  taste  of  his  real  character.  He's  begun  to 
leak  sawdust.  He  likes  you  because  you  are  pretty 
and  gentle  and  biddable,  but  chiefly  because  you 
listen  so  charmingly  when  he  talks!" 

"Wayne,  Wayne,  you  don't  know  what  you  are 
saying!" 

'Yes,  I  know  what  I  am  saying.  And  I  know 
it  is  blackguardly  for  a  man  like  me,  who  has 
led  an  evil  life  and  never  done  a  decent  thing - 
who  has  been  a  disgrace  to  his  honoured  father 
and  to  the  city  he  was  born  in,  to  be  talking  so; 
and  I'm  only  saying  it  to  you  because  you  have 
already  found  it  out  —  because  we've  both  got  to 
suffer  from  it.  Don't  imagine  I'm  one  of  those 
sickly  asses  who  are  always  snivelling  because  they're 
misunderstood.  I'm  a  bad  lot  and  everybody  knows 
it.  I've  been  understood  all  right  enough.  Fanny 
tried  to  keep  me  in  social  countenance  by  sticking 
me  down  the  throats  of  the  people  she  knows  and  sees 
in  her  own  house;  but  I'm  so  rotten  they  won't  have 
it.  The  women  that  have  to  speak  to  me  in  her 
parlour  cut  me  on  the  street.  Because  I  was  born 
with  wild  red  blood  in  me  and  didn't  settle  down  into 
being  a  fraud  like  himself,  father  took  that  martyr- 


250  THE   LORDS   OF 

like  tone  about  me  with  all  his  friends.  I  can  hear 
him  now  mentioning  me  to  the  Brodericks  and  sighing 
softly  and  shaking  his  head  dolefully  to  get  their 
sympathy.  You  can  be  dead  sure  the  Brodericks 
know  about  me;  the  last  time  I  was  in  Boston  I  tore 
up  a  few  trees  on  the  common  and  all  the  papers 
printed  our  illustrious  name  in  big  red  type." 

He  laughed  a  little  wildly,  for  he  had  ceased  to  be 
a  lover  and  was  a  man  with  a  grievance  and  in  his 
bitterness  he  forgot  the  woman  before  him;  and  his 
voice  rang  out  passionately  in  the  room.  He  had 
clutched  her  hand  until  it  hurt  and  she  drew  it  away, 
cowering  in  her  chair  to  escape  the  wild  torrent  of 
his  words. 

"Please,  Wayne,  no  more  of  it!  You  are  spoiling 
the  afternoon!  It  is  getting  dark  and  we  must  be 
going  home." 

He  did  not  heed  her  but  rang  the  bell  and  when  the 
servant  came  he  told  him  to  bring  whiskey,  and  to 
be  quick  about  it.  She  expostulated  while  he  was 
gone ;  she  begged  him  not  to  throw  away  the  advant 
age  he  had  gained  by  his  long  abstinence;  she 
threatened  never  to  speak  to  him  again  if  he  drank  a 
drop.  The  man  brought  a  bottle  and  glasses,  and 
said  as  he  put  it  down,  "That's  the  Rosedale  special, 
sir;  you  put  it  in  yourself  four  years  ago." 

Mrs.  Craighill  rose  as  the  door  closed,  and  made  a 
motion  as  though  to  seize  the  bottle. 

"Just  let  it  alone,"  he  said:  "I  want  to  show  you 
something." 

He  filled  the  whiskey  glasses  full,  and  brimmed  the 


HIGH   DECISION  251 

water  glasses  with  the  liquor,  whose  odour  nipped  the 
air  keenly.  Then  he  set  the  bottle  down  and  folded 
his  arms. 

"Addie,  every  drop  of  blood  in  me  calls  for  that 
stuff;  I  know  every  sensation  it  would  give  me  and 
three  months  ago  I  would  have  given  my  immortal 
soul  for  a  spoonful;  but  I'm  just  as  safe  from  it  as 
though  it  were  locked  up  behind  steel  doors.  No 
power  on  earth  could  make  me  touch  a  drop." 

So  long  as  he  made  love  to  her  she  understood; 
this  bit  of  bravado  disturbed  and  baffled  her.  But 
here  at  least  was  something  that  required  prompt 
commendation,  and  while  she  had  been  better  satis 
fied  by  the  first  direction  of  his  talk,  here  was  a  zone 
of  safety  in  which  they  might  stand  together  in  secur 
ity.  She  rose  and  placed  her  hands  on  his  shoulders. 
'You  are  splendid;  you  are  fine  and  brave  and  I 
am  proud  of  you,  Wayne,  dear!" 

His  manner  changed  instantly  and  he  caught  her 
hands  and  clasped  them  tight.  He  was  still  breath 
ing  deeply  from  his  long  harangue,  but  in  a  moment 
he  spoke  quietly,  with  a  return  of  the  tenderness  with 
which  he  had  begun. 

"I'm  a  beast  to  frighten  you  that  way;  and  I  must 
have  hurt  this  poor  little  hand." 

He  kissed  it  and  swung  her  hands  lightly,  looking 
into  her  face  tenderly. 

* '  What  a  terrible  big  bear  you  are !  And  everything 
was  peaceable  and  cosy  and  you  let  your  temper 
get  the  better  of  you." 

The  snow,  still  falling  densely,  had  hastened  the 


THE   LORDS   OF 

twilight  and  night  was  near.  "We  must  go  —  at 
once  —  at  once!  What  if  the  car  wouldn't  run  in 
the  snow  ?" 

"What  if  it  wouldn't!  They  can  give  us  dinner 
here  —  right  here  on  the  hearth.  They  can  always 
put  up  something  —  it's  the  rule  of  the  Club,  and 
there's  no  end  of  wood  for  the  fire." 

"We  are  going  straight  home  --just  as  straight  as 
we  can  go.  Please!" 

She  tried  to  free  herself,  but  he  held  her  hands 
fast,  laughing  into  her  eyes,  and  suddenly  he  put  his 
arms  around  her  and  drew  her  close  and  kissed  her 
full  upon  the  lips.  The  firelight  danced  fitfully 
about  them  as  they  stood  thus.  He  had  raised  his 
head  to  repeat  the  kiss,  when  steps  sounded  upon 
the  veranda.  Someone  cried  aloud  once,  twice, 
and  beat  upon  the  door,  and  when  Wayne  flung  it 
open  Jean  Morley,  frightened  and  sobbing,  stumbled 
across  the  threshold. 

Wayne  plunged  through  the  snow-filled  dusk  after 
a  man  who  had  turned  away  from  the  veranda  steps 
and  was  running  swiftly  down  the  road.  To  his 
surprise  the  fugitive,  who  had  at  once  widened  the 
distance  between  them,  stopped  short  and  wheeled 
round. 

"I  meant  no  harm!  I  meant  no  harm!"  cried  a 
voice. 

"Good  God,  Joe!     What  are  you  doing  here?" 

"Is  it  you,  Mr.  Wayne  ?  I  guess  I'm  crazy,  that's 
all.  I  meant  no  harm.  She'll  tell  you  herself  I 
meant  no  harm." 


HIGH  DECISION  253 

"We'll  see  about  that.  I  told  you  to  stay  at  the 
house.  I'm  surprised  and  disappointed  in  you.  I'll 
see  you  about  this  to-night.  Now  go  to  the  car  — 
back  there  under  the  shed  —  and  bring  it  out  right 
away  and  take  us  in.  And  you  needn't  try  to  smash 
it  on  the  way  home;  go  in  by  the  Red  Oak  road  and 
take  your  time." 

Wayne  was  not  more  surprised  to  find  that  his 
man  Joe  had  been  Jean  Morley's  pursuer  than  by  the 
young  fellow's  evident  distress,  so  markedly  in  con 
trast  to  his  usual  amiable  cocksureness.  It  was  no 
time  for  inquiry  and  debate.  The  snow  was  already 
ankle-deep  and  it  was  imperative  that  they  start  home 
at  once. 

Wayne,  returning  to  the  club-house,  found  Jean 
Morley,  sitting  by  the  fire,  with  Mrs.  Craighill 
ministering  to  her.  She  had  not  yet  recovered  from 
her  fright;  her  clothes  were  wet  and  her  dark  hair  had 
shaken  loose  about  her  face.  Mrs.  Craighill  appealed 
to  Wayne  for  an  account  of  what  had  happened,  and 
her  surprise  was  manifest  when  Wayne  addressed 
the  crumpled  refugee  quietly  by  name. 

"Mrs.  Craighill,  this  is  Miss  Morley."  Whereat 
Mrs.  Craighill's  "Oh!"  expressed  rather  more  than 
surprise.  "Miss  Morley  is  an  acquaintance  of  mine; 
we  met"  -and  he  smiled  at  the  girl-  "at  the 
parish  house  at  Ironstead  where  she  is  one  of  Mr. 
Paddock's  assistants." 

Jean  rose,  and  aware  that  an  explanation  was 
necessary  she  offered  it  immediately,  standing  for 
lornly  on  the  hearth. 


254  THE  LORDS   OF 

"I  had  gone  for  a  walk  in  the  country;  I  have 
been  in  the  habit  of  taking  an  afternoon  once  a  week, 
and  it  was  so  fine  at  noon  that  I  ventured  on  a  longer 
excursion  than  usual.  I  took  the  train  to  Rosedale 
Heights,  and  struck  off  across  the  fields.  I  turned 
back  when  it  began  to  snow,  but  lost  my  way  and  it 
was  not  till  then  that  I  saw  that  some  one  had  fol 
lowed  me." 

"The  man  who  followed  you  was  my  chauffeur; 
is  there  any  reason  why  he  should  be  annoying  you  ?" 
demanded  Wayne. 

"No,  there  is  no  reason;  but  I  know  him.  I  have 
known  him  a  long  time.  I'm  sure  he  didn't  mean  to 
trouble  me  —  he  wouldn't  do  that.  I  was  foolish  to 
run,  but  the  dark  was  coming  on  and  I  was  not  sure 
of  the  way  in  the  snow.  I  ran  up  on  the  veranda 
more  for  shelter  and  to  get  my  bearings  than  in  fear 
—  I  really  was  not  afraid!" 

Her  hearers  were  struck  by  the  fact  that  she 
seemed  anxious  to  minimize  the  incident.  She 
turned  toward  the  door  saying: 

"I  need  not  trouble  you  further;  I  can  very  easily 
walk  to  the  station." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Craighill. 
:<We  were  just  ready  to  start  and  it  will  be  perfectly 
easy  to  take  you  home.  Is  the  machine  ready, 
Wayne?" 

Mrs.  Craighill  was  pointedly  ignoring  him  in  her 
attentions  to  the  girl.  She  was  holding  her  hat  to 
the  fire  to  dry;  the  caretaker's  wife,  who  had  been 
sent  for  dry  shoes  and  stockings,  led  Miss  Morley 


HIGH   DECISION  255 

to  her  own  room  to  change.  Mrs.  Craighill  had  been 
a  good  deal  shaken  by  the  sudden  invasion  of  the 
peaceful  club  fireside,  but  she  had  not  lost  her  wits. 
The  housekeeper  had  been  drawn  to  the  scene,  not 
merely  for  aid,  but  to  sustain  and  support  the  two 
culprits  of  the  tea  table,  before  the  bedraggled  girl 
who  had  interrupted  the  afternoon's  drama. 

The  spell  had  been  broken ;  the  arrested  embrace, 
the  defeated  kiss  might  not  be  recovered  at  once. 
Mrs.  Craighill  placed  a  chair  between  herself  and 
Wayne  and  from  this  vantage  point  surveyed  him 
with  severity  as  she  touched  a  loosened  strand 
of  hair  into  place.  They  were  now  on  the 
most  formal  footing;  and  he  smiled  slightly  before 
the  bristling  bayonets  with  which  she  demanded 
explanations. 

"Well,  who  is  she?" 

"  Oh,  don't  be  so  fierce  about  it,  Addie !  I  couldn't 
help  it.  She's  just  what  I  said  —  a  girl  I  met  at 
Paddock's  mission  at  Ironstead.  She's  an  art  stu 
dent;  Fanny  is  helping  her;  she's  one  of  Fanny's 
enthusiasms." 

"Do  you  suppose  —  do  you  suppose  she  saw  us ?" 

"I  doubt  it;  she  didn't  have  time!"  and  Wayne 
laughed.  "But  it  would  make  no  difference  if 
she  did." 

"Oh,  you  think  it  wouldn't!  Well,  it  might 
make  a  lot  of  difference  to  me  —  had  you  thought 
of  that?" 

"Why,  of  course,  Addie,  it  would  be  unfortunate, 
deplorable;  but  there's  no  reason  for  worrying  about 


256  THE   LORDS   OF 

it.     She  was  running  from  a  man  —  the  man  hap 
pened  to  be  Joe,  my  chauffeur." 

"Then  it  is  a  pretty  business!  How  do  you  know 
that  Joe  didn't  come  here  to  look  for  us  ?" 

"Because  Joe  is  not  that  sort  of  fellow.  I  know 
him  well;  he's  devoted  to  me." 

"He  may  have  thought  this  was  another;  I  don't 
like  it.  I  trusted  you  absolutely  and  you  have 
made  a  clumsy  mess  of  it.  And  besides,  you 
had  no  business  to  do  that  -  -  what  you  were 
doing  —  you  took  advantage  of  my  kindness  and 
sympathy." 

"For  heaven's  sake,  cheer  up!  If  the  girl  hadn't 
broken  in  here  just  at  the  wrong  moment  it  would 
have  been  all  right,  wouldn't  it?" 

He  was  laughing  in  an  effort  to  blunt  the  edge  of 
her  displeasure,  but  his  attitude  accentuated  her 
anger. 

"No,  it  would  not!  It  was  wrong  and  wicked  of 
you!  But  what  have  you  done  with  Joe?" 

"He's  going  to  run  the  machine  home  —  all  of  us 
—  including  Miss  Morley." 

"Just  after  you  caught  him  pursuing  a  helpless 
girl  through  a  snow-storm  in  a  wild  place  in  the 
country !  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  haven't  discharged 
him?  You  have  certainly  lost  your  mind!" 

'You  wouldn't  have  me  leave  him  here,  would 
you,  to  walk  in?" 

"It  might  be  interesting  to  know  just  what  she 
was  doing  away  out  here  in  a  storm  like  this,  with  a 
man  following  her." 


HIGH   DECISION  257 

;<  Well,  that's  about  as  broad  as  it  is  long.  I  don't 
believe  we'd  better  go  into  that!  She's  a  simple 
little  girl  from  the  country  and  our  world  is  a  big 
dark  mystery  to  her;  very  likely  she's  speculating 
as  to  what  you  and  I  are  doing  here  in  a  snow-storm, 
with  all  the  evidences  of  a  quiet  little  party  --to 
say  nothing  of  the  whiskey  bottle  and  all  the 
glasses  full?" 

He  spread  his  hands  over  the  table,  which  was  not 
eloquent  of  abstinence. 

"It  looks  like  the  merriest  kind  of  an  orgy,  doesn't 
it  ?  And  it's  all  my  fault  —  every  bit  of  it.  No 
matter  what  they  say,  it  simply  does  not  pay  to  be 
good!  Here's  a  whole  quart  of  the  best  rye  in 
the  world,  used  merely  to  demonstrate  my  own 
powers  of  resistance.  There  isn't  a  man  in  the 
whole  State  of  Pennsylvania  who  would  believe 
me  if  I  swore  I  had  poured  out  whiskey  just  to 
smell  it." 

His  hand  touched  one  of  the  filled  glasses;  he 
raised  it  high  and  looked  at  it  with  a  fierce  craving 
in  his  eyes;  then  slowly  very  slowly,  without  taking 
his  eyes  from  it,  he  put  it  down.  She  had  watched 
him  in  silence,  wondering;  but  he  continued  in  his 
light,  bantering  tone.  "As  I  was  saying,  it's  all  my 
fault.  I'm  guilty  on  all  counts  of  the  indictment. 
You  were  a  perfectly  helpless  woman  in  the  hands  of 
a  monster.  I'm  sorry,  Addie;  I'm  just  as  penitent 
as  can  be ;  and  I'm  going  to  get  you  out  of  the  scrape 
as  fast  as  I  can.  I'll  take  the  whole  burden  of  it  — 
explanations,  lies,  everything!  Now  be  a  good  girl, 


258  THE   LORDS   OF 

won't  you,  and  don't  let  everybody  know  you're 
angry -- though  you  are  charming  when  you're 
ruffled." 

He  had  persuaded  her  to  a  more  amiable  humour 
when  Miss  Morley  returned,  and  she  met  the  girl 
and  led  her  to  the  fire  with  solicitous  murmurs. 

"We  can  go  at  once  now,  Wayne,  can't  we?" 

"The  car  awaits  your  pleasure,  ladies!" 

"But  please  don't  trouble  about  me,"  cried  Jean. 
"It's  only  a  little  way  to  Rosedale  Heights  and  I 
can  take  the  train  there  and  be  home  in  half  an  hour." 

"  We  can't  allow  it !  It's  a  long  walk  to  the  station 
and  we  have  the  big  motor  with  lots  of  room  and  to 
spare." 

"It  was  the  oddest  chance  that  brought  us  here," 
Mrs.  Craighill  wrent  on  to  say,  as  she  held  the  girl's 
cloak.  "Mr.  Craighill  had  taken  me  to  call  on  some 
friends  who  are  spending  the  winter  at  their  farm 
beyond  here.  It  was  later  than  I  thought  when  we 
started  and  we  ran  in  here  to  telephone  home  that  we 
should  be  late  for  dinner." 

It  was  a  sufficient  explanation,  blithely  uttered; 
Wayne,  bringing  his  stepmother's  things  to  the  fire, 
hoped  she  would  not  protest  too  much.  The 
matter  of  the  whiskey  bottle,  for  one  thing,  was  a  part 
of  the  res  gestce  which  it  seemed  best  to  leave  to  the 
mercy  of  the  trial  judge. 

Night  had  fallen  when  they  left  the  club-house  and 
the  forward  lamps  of  the  car  cut  a  broad  path  of  light 
over  the  snow.  Wayne  adjusted  one  of  the  movable 
seats  in  the  tonneau  so  that  he  faced  the  two  women, 


HIGH   DECISION  259 

and  turned  on  the  electric  light.  The  thing  had  its 
ridiculous  side;  the  pains  Mrs.  Craighill  was  taking 
to  be  polite  to  the  girl  struck  him  as  funny;  but  by 
the  time  the  car  reached  the  highway  more  serious 
reflections  engaged  him.  Jean  Morley's  account 
of  her  walk  afield  was  plausible  enough  and  he  did 
not  question  it;  he  wondered  whether  Mrs.  Craig- 
hill's  story  had  carried  equal  conviction.  An  effort 
to  assure  himself  that  it  was  not  important  what  the 
girl  thought,  found  him  looking  straight  into  her  eyes, 
whose  gray-blue  depths  and  sorrowful  wistfulness 
seemed  more  fathomless  than  at  any  of  their  previous 
meetings.  Her  knowing  Joe,  the  ball  player  and 
chauffeur  —  the  man  who  now  guided  them  home 
-  added  a  puzzling  factor;  they  were  utterly  irrecon 
cilable  characters.  His  glance  rested  first  on  one 
woman  and  then  the  other  as  he  unconsciously 
compared  them --Mrs.  Craighill,  trim  and  smart, 
with  the  girl,  whose  shabby,  discoloured  gloves,  her 
plain  little  hat  with  its  rumpled  feather,  her  cheap 
coat,  were  vesture  of  a  different  world.  Only  an 
hour  before  he  had  kissed  the  one;  he  had  held  her 
unresisting  in  his  arms;  she  was  pretty,  charming 
amusing,  but  the  glow  of  the  afternoon  had  paled; 
their  adventure  had  ended  on  a  frightened,  smothered 
half-note. 

He  had  been  checked  in  the  course  he  had  marked 
for  himself;  whirled  out  of  the  straight  current  into 
the  labouring  waters  of  indecision.  He  had  resolved 
upon  an  evil  thing;  he  had  hoisted  sail  and  steered 
for  the  rocks,  but  the  plunging  depths  might  not 


260  THE   LORDS   OF 

be  so  attainable  after  all!  That  potential  supersti 
tion,  latent  in  us  all,  and  to  which  strong  men 
are  often  susceptible,  teased  him  with  questions  as 
to  why  this  girl  had  walked  into  his  life.  There, 
too,  was  Paddock,  the  clerical  sentimentalist.  Only 
a  little  while  before  Paddock  had  crossed  the  thresh 
old  of  his  office  and  struck  down,  in  effect,  the  cup 
with  which  he  was  about  to  consecrate  his  life  to 
evil  things.  It  is  the  way  of  the  guilty  to  take  counsel 
of  omens ;  the  knocking  at  the  gate  in  Macbeth  is  the 
loud  beating  of  every  conscience-struck  heart. 
Wayne's  imagination  played  upon  the  figure  of  Jean 
Morley,  drifting  through  the  storm  to  the  remote 
house  where  a  woman,  weak  as  he  was  weak,  yielded 
herself  to  a  kiss  he  had  calculated  in  coldest  reason. 

The  occasional  glances  that  Mrs.  Craighill  vouch 
safed  him  meant  his  dismissal,  for  the  time  at  least. 
It  was  plain  from  her  conduct  that  the  ground  here 
lost  might  not  easily  be  regained;  but  he  was  sur 
prised  to  find  in  his  brooding  that  he  cared  so  little. 
Addie's  pique  was  absurd;  but  he  had  kissed  women 
before  and  they  were  prone  to  magnify  the  gravity 
of  their  indiscretions,  and  to  sulk  afterward.  His 
thoughts  traversed  a  circular  track,  but  the  fire  had 
gone  out  in  his  blood.  Rousing  from  his  absorption 
suddenly  he  found  Jean's  eyes  bent  upon  him, 
wondering,  pitiful  and  sad.  He  had  not  heeded 
what  the  women  were  saying  to  each  other,  but  now 
Mrs.  Craighill  asked  him  where  they  were  and  he 
looked  out  upon  the  lights  of  the  city. 

"  Shall  we  take  Miss  Morley  home  first  ?  "  he  asked. 


HIGH   DECISION  261 

"Dear  me,  no!  She  must  stop  and  have  dinner 
with  us.  Better  than  that,  won't  you  stay  all  night 
with  me,  Miss  Morley?  It's  still  snowing  and  it 
will  be  hard  getting  about  town  to-night.  You  see, 
your  knowing  Mrs.  Blair  makes  it  seem  that  we  all 
know  you." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

MR.  WINGFIELD  CALLS  ON  MR.  WALSH 

WAYNE  not  appearing  at  luncheon,  Wingfield 
ate  alone  and  then  watched  the  street  traffic 
from  the  Club  window  with  listless  interest.  Across 
the  street  rose  the  grimy  fa9ade  of  Memorial  Church, 
its  spires  piercing  the  fuliginous  cloud  the  wind  was 
blowing  across  the  city.  A  battery  of  automobiles 
discharged  a  party  of  young  people  bent  upon  a 
wedding  rehearsal,  and  Wingfield  sighed  softly  as 
the  girls  fluttered  out  of  sight  through  the  church 
doors.  Shortly  afterward  he  left  the  Club  and  walked 
slowly  in  the  direction  of  the  warehouse  of  the 
Wayne-Craighill  Company.  Wingfield  was  given  to 
roaming  and  frequently  sauntered  through  the 
jobbing  district,  dodging  the  clattering  trucks, 
noting  the  destination  of  merchandise  and  drop 
ping  in  upon  friends  in  their  counting  rooms 
to  exchange  anecdotes  and  question  them  as  to 
the  state  of  trade. 

His  business  this  afternoon  was  to  call  on  Tom 
Walsh,  whose  silhouette  he  presently  observed  at  a 
window  of  the  counting  room  on  the  second  floor  of 
the  Wayne-Craighill  Mercantile  Company's  estab 
lishment.  A  truckman  bawled  to  him  to  look  out 
for  himself  as  he  entered  the  main  door  where,  in  a 

262 


THE   LORDS   OF  HIGH   DECISION  263 

small  room,  a  number  of  gentlemen  were  gathered 
about  little  tables  containing  specimens  of  coffee 
and  the  agent  for  a  California  canning  factory  was 
opening  his  "line"  for  the  enlightenment  of  the  chief 
buyer  of  the  house,  a  person  who,  with  his  last  sum 
mer's  straw  hat  tipped  over  his  eyes,  spent  his  days 
trying  to  reconcile  the  pictured  peach  of  the  label 
wTith  the  fruit  inside  the  can.  A  boy,  engaged  with 
marking  pot  and  brush  in  decorating  a  soap-box 
with  cabalistic  characters,  stopped  chewing  gum  and 
whistled  to  a  comrade  to  give  heed  to  the  strange  being 
who  had  entered  the  front  door  and  was  now  ascend 
ing  the  counting-room  steps.  As  Mr.  Wingfield  was 
careful  of  his  raiment,  his  manner  of  gathering  up  the 
skirts  of  his  ulster  on  the  stair,  and  the  fact  that  he 
wore  spats,  caused  the  artist  and  his  comrade  to 
exchange  signals  of  derisive  delight.  As  Wingfield 
disappeared  into  the  office,  an  inquiry  as  to  "what  the 
old  man  would  do  to  ut,"  was  shouted  across  the  ware 
house  beneath  him. 

When  Walsh  had  kicked  the  door  shut  and  offered 
Wingfield  a  cigar,  he  went  to  a  sliding  window  in 
the  partition  of  his  den  and  gave  orders  for  a  few 
minutes  to  his  chief  clerk  on  the  other  side;  then  he 
returned  to  his  desk  and  lighted  a  cigar. 

"Well,  I'm  glad  you  came  in;  I  was  just  thinking 
about  you.  How's  Wayne?" 

"All  right;  we  spent  a  few  days  in  Philadelphia 
and  he  was  as  good  as  gold.  He's  been  sober  for 
nearly  three  months." 

"Then    he's    overdue,"    remarked    Walsh.     "He 


264  THE   LORDS   OF 

usually  comes  down  with  a  jar  when  he's  let  it  alone 
so  long." 

"He's  been  at  work,  too  —  as  regular  as  the  clock. 
Your  retirement  from  the  office  seems  to  have  had 
a  stimulating  effect  on  Wayne's  energies.  How  do 
you  account  for  it?" 

"Um.  Maybe  he  wanted  to  see  what's  inside  the 
pot.  He  got  me  up  there  one  day  last  week  and  put 
me  through  a  cross-examination  that  gave  me  the 
headache.  I  noticed  that  the  boys  in  the  office  jump 
when  he  comes  in  now;  they  didn't  use  to  know  he 
was  there." 

"New    stepmother   doing   it?"    asked    Wingfield. 

Walsh  looked  at  the  end  of  his  cigar  carefully 
and  smoked  quietly  for  a  few  minutes  before  replying. 

"He's  deeper  than  that;  Wayne  has  a  game  on 
hand.  His  conversion  is  too  sudden.  He's  saving 
up  like  a  volcano.  He'll  let  go  one  of  these  days  and 
there  will  be  hell.  I  don't  like  it." 

"Maybe  he  wants  to  make  money  and  get  rich," 
suggested  Wingfield. 

"And  maybe  —  maybe,"  replied  Walsh  contempt 
uously,  "he  wants  to  buy  airships  so  he  can  call 
on  the  man  in  the  moon.  I  don't  know  what  it  is, 
but  the  signs  point  to  trouble." 

Walsh  took  off  his  hat  and  caressed  his  bald 
head.  Then  he  threw  up  a  section  of  his  glass 
cage  that  looked  out  upon  the  street  and  bade  a 
truck  driver  stop  beating  his  horses.  He  dominated 
his  establishment  like  the  captain  of  a  ship,  his  office 
serving  as  a  bridge.  A  clear  tenor  voice,  singing  a 


HIGH   DECISION  265 

ballad,  rose  from  the  wareroom  below.  Walsh 
touched  a  button  and  when  the  chief  shipping-clerk 
appeared  bade  him  discharge  the  singer  at  once. 

"Chuck  him!  I  warned  him  myself  I  wouldn't 
stand  for  it." 

"I  hope  it's  the  one  that  guyed  my  clothes  as  I 
came  up,"  said  Wingfield.  "My  spats  seemed  to 
pain  him;  he  was  painting  things  with  a  brush." 

" He's  the  one,"  growled  Walsh.  "I'll  let  his  voice 
rest  for  a  week  and  then  I'm  going  to  put  him  on  the 
road.  He's  the  likeliest  colt  on  the  place." 

"Fire  him  first,  then  promote  him?"  asked  Wing- 
field. 

"Yep.  But  I  don't  make  a  fixed  rule  of  takin' 
'em  back.  Fired  the  office  boy  last  week  and  he'll 
stay  fired  —  hung  a  couple  of  these  'Get  Busy,' 
'Keep  on  smiling,'  signs  over  my  desk.  Well, 
where's  Wayne  now?"  he  demanded. 

"He  went  to  his  office  this  morning  after  break 
fasting  with  me  and  didn't  show  up  at  the  Club  for 
lunch  —  he'll  probably  be  there  for  dinner  —  there's 
nobody  at  home,  you  know.  The  Colonel  took  his 
bride  to  Boston  to  hear  him  deliver  his  oration." 

"Mrs.  Craighill  went  to  Boston?" 

"Why,   certainly." 

"I  guess  not,"  said  Walsh;  "she's  home  —  hasn't 
been  out  of  town." 

"Wayne  didn't  know  it;  he  thought  they  both 
went." 

"They  didn't;  I'm  quite  positive.  Very  likely 
Wayne  didn't  know.  They  may  have  intended 


266  THE   LORDS   OF 

going  together  and  then  something  happened  and 
Mrs.  Craighill  stayed  at  home." 

"I  didn't  know  you  were  so  thick  with  the  family. 
One  might  think  you  and  Mrs  Craighill  were  on 
telephonic  terms  of  intimacy." 

"No;  hardly  that.  I  haven't  heard  from  her  but 
I  know  she's  in  town.  My  information  may  be  priv 
ate  and  exclusive;  I  guess  most  likely  it  is." 

"Where  does  that  leave  us?" 

"It  doesn't  leave  us  anywhere;  it  just  brings  us  to 
the  starting  point!" 

It  was  hot  in  the  glass  box  and  Wingfield  fanned 
himself  with  his  hat.  Since  the  night  of  Mrs.  Blair's 
reception,  at  which  he  and  Walsh  had  spoken  of  Wayne 
with  a  common  understanding  and  sympathy,  Walsh 
had  been  much  in  his  thoughts.  Wingfield  was  a 
student  of  character  and  it  pleased  him  to  think  that 
in  this  grim,  bald  old  fellow  he  had  discovered  a 
type.  Walsh's  traits  were  of  a  sort  to  appeal  to 
him  and  now  that  he  was  learning  that  Walsh 
gathered  information  through  secret  and  mysterious 
channels,  his  liking  warmed  to  admiration.  It 
was  precisely  this  sort  of  thing  that  Wingfield 
liked  to  do  himself.  He  took  off  his  ulster  and 
drew  his  chair  closer. 

"Do  you  mean  - 

"I  mean  that  Wayne  and  Mrs.  Craighill  should 
not  see  too  much  of  each  other.  They  are  both 
young  and  foolish.  The  Colonel  is  a  good  deal 
wrapped  up  in  himself;  one  roof  isn't  big  enough  to 
cover  an  elderly  husband  —  an  important,  busy 


HIGH  DECISION  267 

man  —  his   young  wife   and   a   youngster   who's   a 
past-master  at  the  business  of  jollying  women." 

"But  Wayne  has  a  sense  of  honour;  there's  a  place 
where  he  would  draw  the  line." 

The  cashier  brought  in  the  bank  deposit  which 
Walsh  surveyed  carefully.  When  the  man  had  gone 
he  lighted  a  fresh  cigar  and  when  it  burned  to  his  satis 
faction  he  laid  a  broad  hand  on  Wingfield's  knee  and 
said: 

''We  seem  to  understand  each  other.  I  don't 
talk  much,  neither  do  you.  This  is  all  on  the  dead 
level,  is  it?" 

'You  can  trust  me.  What  we  say  here  is  strictly 
between  ourselves." 

Walsh  nodded  in  sign  that  the  compact  was  under 
stood. 

'You  and  I  can't  quarrel  over  Wayne's  good 
qualities  nor  over  his  bad  ones  either,  for  that  matter. 
If  managed  right,  he'd  be  a  fine,  big,  manly  fellow. 
The  Colonel  never  knew  how  to  handle  him.  We 
spoke  of  that  up  at  Mrs.  Blair's  that  night.  You've 
noticed  that  Wayne's  going  to  the  office  now  and  that 
he's  been  straight  ever  since  the  Colonel  got  married. 
A  change  like  that  doesn't  just  happen;  you've  got 
to  account  for  it.  You  haven't  accounted  for  it, 
have  you?  Well  I  have!  He's  got  the  idea  that  the 
Colonel  hasn't  treated  him  square.  The  Colonel's 
rubbed  it  into  him  pretty  hard  and  often  —  not  by 
roasting  him  and  that  sort  of  thing,  but  in  a  thousand 
worse  ways.  He's  made  the  mistake  —  and  I'll  be 
damned  if  I  think  the  Colonel  knows  it  himself  — 


268  THE   LORDS   OF 

of  posing  to  the  boy  as  a  pattern  of  what  he  ought  to 
be.  All  this  God-and-morality  business  -  -  these 
speeches  about  the  wickedness  of  politics  in  Jupiter 
and  that  kind  of  thing  —  make  the  boy  tired.  It's 
worse  than  that:  he  wants  to  catch  the  Colonel  nap 
ping  and  prove  him  a  fraud!  It's  a  devilish  sort  of 
thing  —  you  don't  like  to  think  of  it;  but  that's 
my  explanation  of  this  sudden  devotion  to  business. 
The  thing's  in  his  eye;  he's  looking  for  spots  on 
the  sun." 

Wingfield  caressed  his  gloves  gently.  Walsh 
smoked  hard. 

"I  don't  believe  it's  in  him.  He's  as  sweet  as 
cream  inside  and  wholesome  and  clean.  The  thing 
you  suggest  wouldn't  be  possible  in  the  Wayne 
Craighill  I  know,"  and  there  was  rebuke  in  Wing- 
field's  tone. 

"Don't  misunderstand  me.  I'm  for  the  boy  all 
the  time.  I  wish  to  God  he  was  mine!  He'll  wobble 
right  some  day,  but  just  now  that's  what  he's  up  to. 
And  there's  a  little  more  at  the  back  of  my  head  - 
Not  ready  yet,"  he  called  to  a  clerk  who  had  entered 
with  a  mass  of  correspondence.  "Wait  till  I  ring. 
There's  that;  and  that  woman  up  at  the  house  gives 
him  another  chance  at  the  Colonel;  I  see  you  flinch 
at  it,  but  he's  out  for  revenge  —  he's  been  getting 
ready  for  it  for  a  long  time." 

"No!"  ejaculated  Wingfield  sharply.  "I  don't 
believe  it  —  it's  beneath  him.  We  don't  understand 
each  other  at  all  if  you  think  Wayne  Craighill  capable 
of  anything  so  low,  so  base,  so  utterly  despicable." 


HIGH   DECISION  269 

He  took  off  his  eye-glasses,  swung  them  the  length 
of  their  gold  chain,  and  glared  at  Walsh  when  he  had 
replaced  them. 

"I  should  take  the  same  view  if  I  didn't  know 
some  things  that  you  don't.  I  don't  question  Wayne's 
honour,  but  it's  no  stronger  than  his  sense  of  justice, 
and  it's  the  injustice  that  rankles  and  the  feeling  that 
the  Colonel  isn't  above  magnifying  his  own  virtue  at 
the  boy's  expense." 

Wingfield  nodded  in  affirmation,  but  his  astonish 
ment  grew  at  the  wide  range  Walsh's  thoughts  had 
taken. 

"You  imply  that  there  are  circumstances  that  con 
firm  your  impression  that  Wayne  and  Mrs.  Craighill 
are  not  suitable  companions  for  each  other?" 

"I  imply  nothing  as  to  the  future,  or  the  present 
either,  for  that  matter.  What  may  interest  you  —  and 
this  is  entirely  in  confidence  —  is  the  fact  that  Mrs. 
Craighill  knew  Wayne  before  she  knew  the  Colonel! " 

Walsh  thrust  his  hands  deep  into  the  pockets  of 
his  office  coat  and  chewed  his  cigar.  He  was  no 
pedlar  of  gossip  and  Wingfield  saw  that  he  had  not 
parted  with  this  piece  of  information  without  a 
wrench. 

"How  did  he  know  her  ?     Was  it  bad  or  good  ?" 

Walsh  shook  his  head,  and  compressed  his  thin  lips. 

"I  guess  it  was  all  right.  He  might  have  married 
her  himself  if  the  circumstances  had  been  quite  nor 
mal,  but  he  found  that  they  were  trying  to  railroad 
him  into  it,  and  he  backed  water." 

"They?"  queried  Wingfield. 


270  THE   LORDS   OF 

"Um,"  answered  Walsh,  looking  out  upon  the 
snow-storm  that  raged  in  the  narrow  street.  In  the 
windows  over  the  way  blue  shaded  lamps  in  other 
counting  rooms  were  lighted,  and  he  rose  to  turn  on 
his  own.  Wingfield  saw  that  beyond  the  simple 
statement  of  fact  Walsh  would  not  go.  Walsh 
was  troubled.  The  light  of  the  desk  lamp  sought 
out  the  deep  lines  of  his  face;  his  small  gray  eyes 
narrowed.  Outside  the  door  several  of  the  clerical 
staff  wondered  at  the  length  of  the  interview  accorded 
by  their  chief  to  the  tall  gentleman  with  the  dark 
beard.  The  fact  that  the  shipping  clerk's  assistant 
had  been  dismissed  in  the  midst  of  the  call  had  sent 
a  cold  chill  through  the  establishment:  the  old  man, 
it  was  whispered,  was  out  of  sorts,  and  his  state  of 
mind  they  attributed  to  the  malign  influence  of  the 
tall  person  in  spats. 

"Of  course  the  Colonel  didn't  know,"  suggested 
Wingfield. 

"No;  and  that  works  into  my  general  idea  of  what 
Wayne's  up  to.  Wayne  had  risen  to  the  same  fly  but 
they  failed  to  hook  him.  When  he  saw  the  Colonel 
about  to  swallow,  bait  and  all,  he  lay  low.  It  was  the 
kind  of  thing  he  wanted.  It  tickled  him  to  see  the 
Colonel  make  a  mistake." 

'You  think  the  Colonel  was  trapped.  He's  an  old 
hand  — he  knows  the  world.  He  must  have  had  a 
lot  of  chances  to  marry  women  of  position  and 
wealth." 

Walsh  rubbed  his  face  raspingly  with  his  thick 
fingers. 


HIGH   DECISION  271 

"When  a  man's  sixty  or  thereabouts  any  woman 
that  plays  the  game  right  can  land  him.  If  she's 
young  and  pretty  and  naturally  smart,  he's  fruit  — 
simply  fruit!  A  vain  man  is  the  easiest  mark;  tickle 
him  a  little  and  he'll  goo-goo.  We're  all  chumps 
where  the  women  are  concerned,  Wingfield;  they  nail 
us  every  time.  The  Colonel  was  bound  to  walk  into 
the  trap.  Lord,  man,  even  I've  had  'em  after  me! 
A  few  yards  of  crepe  coming  in  to  ask  my  advice  about 
managing  their  property;  sympathy  gag;  helpless 
woman;  no  one  to  appeal  to;  comes  to  Tom  Walsh 
because  of  his  success  in  business,  his  reputation  for 
being  square  and  so  on.  Now  that  I'm  down  here 
alone  and  the  impression's  abroad  that  I'm  a  solid 
citizen,  they're  looking  me  up  rather  more  freely. 
While  I  was  with  Craighill  the  Colonel  got  all  the 
crepe.  Now  I'm  getting  my  proper  share  of  the 
business.  They  jolly  me  about  my  horses  and  say 
they  think  it's  so  fine  for  a  man  to  have  some  form 
of  recreation.  I  tell  'em  I  always  drive  alone! 
But  the  Colonel  shied  at  the  widows,  grass-fed  and 
otherwise,  and  married  a  woman  nobody  ever  heard 
of  before.  He  probably  thought  he  was  doing  a 
smart  thing  to  cut  out  the  local  crowd.  I  guess  Mrs. 
Blair  wouldn't  have  let  him  marry  anybody  in  town. 
He  did  well,  according  to  his  light.  The  reel's 
wound  up  and  the  fish  is  in  the  basket." 

"I  fancy  we're  neither  of  us  deeply  concerned 
about  the  Colonel;  it's  Wayne  we'd  like  to  help; 
am  I  right?" 

Walsh   nodded   gravely. 


THE  LORDS   OF 

"I  don't  think  the  woman  is  a  bad  woman.  I 
went  up  to  Mrs.  Blair's  that  night  at  the  rash  expense 
of  a  white  waistcoat  just  to  look  her  over.  She's 
pretty  and  friendly.  I  don't  suppose  she's  buncoed 
the  Colonel  any  more  than  he's  buncoed  her.  It's 
about  even.  She  struck  me  as  being  kind  of  pathetic, 
someway." 

"Ah!  I  hadn't  noticed  it,"  remarked  Wingfield. 
"She  struck  me  as  a  young  person  who  would  take 
care  of  herself.  They're  an  interesting  type,  these 
young  women  who  corral  old  gentlemen  of  established 
position  and  wealth.  The  Colonel  must  have  a  fine 
estate;  he's  made  money  ever  since  he  inherited  the 
Wayne  fortune  and  he's  never  lost  any." 

"Urn!" 

This  grunt  of  Walsh's  was  discouraging.  Wing- 
field's  own  reticence  had  been  admired,  but  Walsh's 
was  even  more  opaque;  he  felt  that  the  old  fellow 
was  a  hooded  falcon  who  could,  if  given  free  flight, 
penetrate  far  into  the  mystery  that  surrounded  Mrs. 
Craighill. 

"I  guess  we  might  call  there  to-night,"  Walsh 
continued.  "I'm  not  on  to  the  social  game,  but  I 
suppose  that,  having  had  the  Colonel's  announce 
ment  cards  and  having  met  the  bride  at  Mrs.  Blair's, 
it's  up  to  me  to  call.  As  I  have  no  official  knowledge 
of  the  Colonel's  absence  I  guess  I'll  drop  in  to-night 
and  it  wouldn't  be  a  bad  idea  for  you  to  come  along. 
You  can  dine  with  me  at  the  Club.  Do  you  put  on 
a  white  vest  for  evening  calls  or  will  a  black  one  do  ?" 

The  proposed  visit  was  not  to  Wingfield's  taste. 


HIGH  DECISION  273 

Wayne  had  distinctly  told  him  that  Mrs.  Craighill 
was  in  Boston  with  her  husband,  and  in  the  circum 
stances  for  him  to  call  at  the  house  with  Walsh,  of 
all  men,  would  be  an  event  whose  implication  would 
not  be  wasted  on  a  man  of  Wayne  Craighill's  sharp 
perception.  He  was  averse  to  going;  the  very  idea 
was  repugnant;  but  Walsh  clearly  wished  his  com 
pany  and  he  finally  agreed  to  go. 

"Very  well,  I'll  arrange  the  transportation";  and 
Walsh  dismissed  him  with  an  injunction  not  to  break 
his  neck  on  the  office  steps. 


CHAPTER  XX 

EVENING  AT  THE  CRAIGHILLS* 

MRS.  CRAIGHILL  had  not  relaxed  her 
severity  toward  Wayne  when,  with  Jean 
between  them,  they  sat  down  to  dinner.  She  con 
tinued,  however,  her  protecting  attitude  toward  the 
girl,  whom  she  had  installed  in  the  best  of  the  guest 
chambers  adjoining  her  own  room.  Any  doubts  that 
had  crossed  her  mind  as  to  the  extent  of  Wayne's 
knowledge  of  the  young  woman  had  been  dispelled 
by  Jean  herself.  She  had  sought  eagerly  for  any 
basis  for  suspicions,  but  Miss  Morley  was  apparently 
all  that  she  pretended  to  be;  and  Wayne's  own 
manner  at  the  table  set  the  seal  of  truth  upon  his 
protestations  of  merest  acquaintance  as  uttered  at 
the  clubhouse.  The  girl  interested  Wayne  and  it 
was,  Mrs.  Craighill  divined,  the  interest  of  novelty; 
she  was  of  an  order  of  woman  that  had  not 
heretofore  attracted  his  attention.  And  seeing 
his  absorption,  noting  the  pains  he  took  to  be 
entertaining,  Mrs.  Craighill's  glances  in  his  direc 
tion  gained  nothing  in  amiability.  He  imagined 
that  she  wished  to  punish  him  for  having  been 
caught  in  the  act  of  kissing  her;  and  his  accep 
tance  of  the  situation,  and  his  cool  appropriation 
of  the  girl  whom  she  had  brought  home  merely 

274 


THE   LORDS   OF  HIGH  DECISION   275 

for  the  purpose  of  placation,  added  to  the  black 
ness  of  his  offenses. 

The  talk,  as  led  by  Wayne,  fell  into  lines  that 
served  to  minimize  Mrs.  CraighilPs  importance  in  the 
trio.  She  did  not  care  about  magazine  illustration, 
or  know  very  much  about  Claude  Monet;  and 
Miss  Morley's  ignorance  of  grand  opera,  and  her 
na'ive  preferences  in  the  music  she  did  know  called 
for  nothing  but  occasional  smiles  of  polite  indulgence 
from  Mrs.  Craighill.  Wayne  was  making  far  too 
much  of  the  girl;  it  was  unnecessary  and  unbecom 
ing.  Her  poverty,  proclaimed  in  her  shabby  clothing, 
her  lack  of  ease,  her  deficiencies  in  a  hundred  other 
trifling  ways  irritated  Mrs.  Craighill.  But  if  the  girl 
did  not  know  how  to  manage  her  artichoke  she  was 
not  dull.  When  she  became  aware  of  her  hostess's 
silence  she  made  a  point  of  including  her  in  the  talk. 

It  was  an  event  in  the  girl's  life,  this  hour  at  the 
prettily  set  table,  with  its  bowl  of  roses  aglow  in  the 
soft  candle-light;  the  silent  service;  the  leisure  born 
of  plenty  and  secure  from  the  clutch  of  time.  Her 
awe  passed.  Mrs.  Craighill  had  been  kind  and  Jean 
was  taking  her  kindness  at  its  face  value,  and 
in  apparent  ignorance  of  its  ulterior  intention.  She 
saw  in  Mrs.  Craighill  a  woman  of  the  ampler  world, 
whom  the  gods  had  favoured  with  good  looks  and 
fortune,  and  Jean  studied  her  with  an  artist's  eye. 
Adelaide  Craighill's  head,  so  admirably  set  on  her 
pretty  neck,  had  never  pleased  any  one  more.  That 
half-languorous  droop  of  the  lids  that  withheld  the 
full  gaze  of  her  eyes  for  sudden,  unexpected,  flashing 


276  THE   LORDS   OF 

contacts,  was  not  without  its  fascination.  If  Jean 
Morley  interested  Mrs.  Craighill,  Mrs.  Craighill 
interested  Jean  Morley  even  more. 

Jean's  frankness,  now  that  her  diffidence  had 
passed,  revealed  her  in  a  new  light.  Wayne  had 
never  placed  her,  never  found  an  adequate  back 
ground  for  her.  In  their  several  meetings  he  had 
been  satisfied  with  what  the  moment  disclosed. 
A  reference  to  her  fondness  for  walking  served  to 
open  a  long  vista,  which  his  fancy  crowded  with 
pictures. 

"I  was  born  and  brought  up  in  the  hills,"  Jean 
said,  "but  a  long  way  from  here.  I  don't  belong  in 
the  soft  coal  country  —  my  home  is  in  the  anthracite 
region.  I  never  was  here  before,  and  probably 
shouldn't  be  here  now  if  it  weren't  that  I'm  able  to 
spend  the  winter  in  study  at  the  Institute.  I  think 
I  like  my  own  country  better  than  this ;  I  have  never 
been  in  cities  very  much.  Just  a  few  times  I  have 
been  down  to  Philadelphia  to  look  at  the  exhibitions. 
I  should  have  spent  this  year  there,  but  I  came  here, 
for  several  reasons,  and  now  the  winter  is  going  so 
fast  and  I  have  so  little  to  show  for  it." 

"You  can't  do  it  all  in  one  winter,"  Mrs.  Craig- 
hill  remarked  sympathetically. 

"No  —  and  you  can't  do  much  in  many  winters! 
I'm  not  a  genius  —  I  know  that  as  well  as  anybody; 
but  I  want  to  make  the  most  of  my  little  talent.  Bad 
pictures  seem  so  much  worse  than  anything  else  — • 
worse  than  bad  music  even.  It's  better  not  to  start 
if  you've  got  to  go  on  forever  being  an  amateur." 


HIGH  DECISION  277 

"Well,  one  has  the  fun  of  trying,"  murmured  Mrs. 
Craighill.  She  had  seen  American  students  abroad 
on  their  eternal  pursuit  of  fame,  and  her  words  were 
lightly  shaded  with  her  forbearance  of  all  hopeless 
aspirants. 

"Did  you  always  fancy  pictures  and  drawing?" 
"I'm  afraid  so!  It  seems  absurd  to  speak  of  my 
things  at  all  to  people  who  know  —  to  those  who  have 
seen  the  great  galleries  abroad.  But  I  used  to  pick 
up  pieces  of  charcoal  and  try  to  draw  when  I  was  a 
child,  and  I  never  seemed  able  to  give  it  up.  I  would 
bribe  the  little  neighbour  children  to  pose  for  me; 
the  boys  who  worked  in  the  breakers  were  nicer  to 
draw  because  if  I  smutted  my  picture  it  didn't  matter 
—  it  made  it  all  the  truer  to  life.  When  we  had  the 
last  strike  up  there  in  my  country" — she  called  it 
"  my  country,"  as  though  it  were  detached  and  alien 
and  Wayne  liked  it  in  her — "a  lot  of  newspaper 
correspondents  came  to  report  the  troubles,  and  I 
suppose  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  strike  I  should  have 
lost  my  courage  and  given  up  trying.  But  I  was 
sketching  some  of  the  children  in  town  one  day  with 
charcoal  on  wrapping-paper  and  one  of  the  news 
paper  men  asked  me  to  give  him  a  few  souvenirs. 
I  had  a  whole  trunkful  and  he  helped  himself.  He 
sent  them  off  with  an  article  called  "The  Children  of 
the  Breakers"  and  it  came  out  the  next  Sunday  in  a 
Philadelphia  paper  with  my  pictures.  The  artist 
on  the  paper  sent  me  some  ink  and  paper  of  the  kind 
used  in  black  and  white  work  and  then  a  check  came 
for  twenty  dollars.  That  helped  to  spoil  me;  and 


278  THE   LORDS  OF 

then  I  heard  of  a  free  scholarship  here  and  when  I 
came  Mrs.  Blair,  who's  on  the  Students'  Aid  Com 
mittee  of  the  Institute,  was  kinder  than  any  one  else 
had  ever  been;  she's  been  lovely  to  me!" 

"Mrs.  Blair  is  splendid  to  every  one  —  so  enthusi 
astic  and  helpful.  You  are  fortunate  in  having  her 
for  your  friend." 

It  was  in  Mrs.  CraighilPs  mind  that  if  the  girl 
should  tell  Mrs.  Blair  just  how  she  came  to  be 
dining  at  the  Craighill  table  the  story  might  require 
elucidation.  Fanny  Blair  believed  her  to  be  in 
Boston,  and  from  Boston  to  the  Rosedale  Country 
Club  was  a  far  cry.  Her  irritation  at  Wayne 
increased:  he  had  certainly  made  a  mess  of  things; 
and  his  absorption  in  the  girl,  his  ready  transfer 
of  interest,  did  not  mitigate  his  offense.  She  was 
not  in  the  least  interested  in  Jean  Morley's  studies 
in  black  and  white,  and  she  was  considering  the 
advisability  of  anticipating  the  girl  by  telling  Fanny 
Blair  the  Rosedale  story  first,  in  a  way  to  protect 
herself.  The  prospect  did  not  please  her.  She 
had  a  high  opinion  of  Fanny  Blair's  intelligence, 
which  caught  at  truth  in  zigzag  lightning  flashes  of 
intuition.  And  while  she  considered  these  things, 
Jean  Morley,  whose  character  was  not  involved, 
described  the  landscape  of  the  upper  Susquehanna 
with  almost  childish  enthusiasm  and  Wayne,  who 
had  no  reputation  to  lose,  listened  to  her  with  an 
attention  that  would  have  been  excessive  if  paid 
to  a  first  visitor  from  Mars. 

Mrs.    Craighill    preceded   them    slightly    as    they 


HIGH   DECISION  279 

sought  the  library.  Her  fine  carriage,  her  short, 
even  step,  the  train  of  her  gown  that  swept  after 
her  detainingly  —  these  trifles  added  to  Jean's  impres 
sion  of  her  hostess  as  a  finished  product  of  the 
fashionable  world. 

Before  the  blazing  logs  in  the  library  Mrs.  Craighill 
rallied  again,  touched  to  pity  by  the  sight  of  Jean's 
shoes,  borrowed  of  the  housekeeper  at  Rosedale, 
which,  as  she  placed  her  own  dainty  slippers  on  the 
fender,  seemed  to  shrink  in  their  own  humility  out 
of  sight  under  the  girl's  crumpled  skirt.  Wayne 
threw  up  a  blind  to  observe  the  weather  and  called 
them  to  see  the  snow,  which  lay  white  under  the 
electric  light  of  the  streets  and  had  transformed  the 
hedge  into  a  stern  barricade  of  white  masonry.  The 
jingle  of  sleigh-bells  stole  in  upon  them  as  they 
turned  to  the  fire. 

The  storm  served  a  distinct  purpose  in  eliminating 
from  the  possibilities  the  chance  of  interruption. 
People  had  been  in  the  habit  of  dropping  in  in  the 
evening  —  it  was  an  attention  that  Colonel  Craighill 
liked;  but  as  her  departure  had  been  duly  gazetted 
by  the  society  reporters  it  was  hardly  possible,  Mrs. 
Craighill  reflected,  that  anyone  would  brave  the 
storm  merely  to  leave  a  card  at  the  door. 

By  half-past  eight  Mrs.  Craighill  had  begun  to 
be  bored,  and  it  was  upon  this  trying  situation 
that  the  maid  entered  with  Wingfield's  and 
Walsh's  cards.  These  gentlemen  had  found  a 
sleigh  for  the  journey  and  the  tinkle  of  bells  in  the 
carriage  entrance  cheerfully  preluded  their  arrival. 


280  THE   LORDS   OF 

Their  appearance  had  been  accomplished  with  so 
much  expedition  that  before  Mrs.  Craighill  could 
hand  the  cards  over  to  Wayne  the  two  gentlemen 
were  within  the  library  portieres,  rubbing  their 
hands  at  the  sight  of  the  blaze  and  exhaling  an  air 
so  casual  and  amiable  as  to  disarm  suspicion. 

"It  was  Walsh  did  it,"  began  Wingfield.  "He 
took  me  for  a  sleigh-ride  and  when  I  complained  of 
being  cold  he  said  we'd  go  into  the  Craighills'  on 
the  chance  of  finding  somebody  at  home.  It's  always 
Mr.  Walsh;  you  never  can  say  no  to  him.  I've 
undoubtedly  contracted  pneumonia  and  they'll  be 
pumping  oxygen  into  me  before  daylight." 

Mrs.  Craighhill  introduced  Miss  Morley,  and 
Wayne's  astonishment  at  seeing  the  men  hardly 
exceeded  his  surprise  when  Walsh,  turning  from 
Mrs.  Craighill,  spoke  Miss  Morley's  name  distinctly 
and  shook  hands  with  her. 

"I  have  met  Miss  Morley  before,"  he  said,  and 
sat  down  by  her. 

'You  see,"  Mrs.  Craighill  was  saying,  "the  papers 
tried  to  send  me  to  Boston,  but  here  I  am,  and 
glad  not  to  be  up  there  in  the  blizzard." 

"Nothing  could  be  cosier  than  this!  That  is 
hickory;  there's  a  particular  charm  in  hickory, 
but  my  mother  will  have  none  of  it;  she  sticks  to 
pine  knots." 

Nothing  had  escaped  Wingfield's  keen  eyes;  but 
che  sigh  with  which  he  settled  himself  was  half  an 
expression  of  relief.  The  presence  of  the  third 
figure  in  the  scene  satisfied  him  of  the  baseness  of 


HIGH   DECISION  281 

Walsh's  assumption,  and  added,  moreover,  an  agree 
able  novelty  to  the  call.  Mrs.  Craighill  was  a 
clever  woman;  his  interest  in  her  increased;  he 
paid  her  the  tribute  of  his  sincere  admiration.  As 
to  the  girl's  identity,  he  could  wait.  As  he  dis 
cussed  current  social  history  with  Mrs.  Craighill  he 
appraised  Jean  with  a  connoisseur's  eye.  Wayne 
had  been  tinkering  the  fire,  and  when  he  rose  he 
sat  down  between  Mrs.  Craighill  and  Wingfield. 

Walsh,  his  face  reddened  by  the  wind,  was  giving 
his  attention  to  Miss  Morley,  and  the  others  caught 
only  occasionally  a  word  of  their  conversation. 

"So  your  grandfather's  still  in  town?  I  sup 
posed  he  would  be  going  home  before  this." 

"He's  waiting  to  finish  up  the  Sand  Creek  matter. 
He  wants  to  know  what  is  going  to  be  done  about 
that  before  he  goes  back.  It's  worried  him  a  great 
deal,  and  he  feels  that  he  must  press  it  now  while  he 
can.  He's  an  old  man,  and  not  well.  I've  tried  to 
get  him  to  abandon  it  altogether,  but  it's  on  my 
account  he's  doing  it.  He  wants  to  get  the  money 
for  my  sake,  but  I'm  afraid  he  will  only  be  disap 
pointed." 

"Have  you  ever  seen  Colonel  Craighill  yourself? 
Do  you  know  what  he  says  to  your  grandfather?" 

"Only  that  he  puts  him  off  —  he  never  really 
tells  him  anything." 

"Urn!" 

Walsh  rubbed  his  bald  pate  reflectively.  The 
trio  nearer  the  fire  were  well  launched  in  frivolous 
talk.  Wayne  seemed  in  excellent  spirits;  Mrs. 


282  THE   LORDS   OF 

Craighill  had  entered  into  the  spirit  of  Wingfield's 
banter  with  zest,  and  Wingfield  was  enjoying  himself 
immensely. 

"I  didn't  know  you  were  acquainted  with  the 
family  in  this  way.  Does  Wayne  know?"  con 
tinued  Walsh. 

"It's  just  an  accident,  my  being  here.  It  was 
Mrs.  CraighilPs  kindness  —  I  had  never  seen  her 
before;  and  Mr.  Wayne  Craighill  I  knew,  slightly. 
I  met  him  at  Ironstead,  at  Father  Paddock's  settle 
ment  there." 

Walsh  bent  closer,  as  though  he  had  not  under 
stood,  and  when  she  repeated  her  last  sentence  he 
drew  his  hand  slowly  down  his  cheek. 

"Um!  Is  Wayne  going  in  for  that  kind  of  busi 
ness  ?  I  hadn't  heard  of  it." 

"He  was  out  there  one  night  when  Father  Paddock 
had  an  entertainment.  Mr.  Craighill  brought  me 
and  a  friend  of  mine  home  in  his  motor." 

Walsh  found  a  handkerchief  and  blew  his  nose 
vigorously.  When  he  had  settled  his  pudgy  frame 
back  in  his  chair  he  asked  abruptly: 

"  What  do  you  think  of  him  ?  " 

"Why  — I  don't  think!"  said  the  girl,  and  her 
laugh  reached  Wayne  —  her  light  laugh  of  real 
mirth  that  had  the  ease  of  a  swallow's  flight. 

"Are  you  afraid  of  him?" 

"No;  I'm  not  afraid  of  him.  We're  hardly 
acquainted.  I've  only  seen  him  three  or  four  times." 

"Oh!  The  meeting  at  Paddock's  place  wasn't 
the  first?" 


HIGH   DECISION  283 

"No.  I  had  seen  him  before  —  the  first  time  at 
the  Institute;  you  know  I'm  studying  there." 

"He  didn't  hesitate  to  speak  to  you  without  an 
introduction,  did  he?"  persisted  Walsh,  though 
with  a  good-humoured  twinkle  in  his  little  eyes. 

"No,  Mr.  Walsh,  he  did  speak  to  me,  but  it  was 
all  right.  The  circumstances  made  it  all  right." 

He  was  amused  by  her  readiness  to  defend  Wayne, 
who  was  just  then  chaffing  Wingfield  about  some 
thing  for  Mrs.  Craighill's  edification,  wholly  uncon 
scious  that  he  was  being  discussed. 

"They  always  do,"  said  Walsh. 

He  turned  round  in  his  chair  so  that  he  looked 
directly  into  the  girl's  face.  There  was  no  insolence 
in  his  gaze;  it  was  merely  his  direct,  blunt  way  of 
looking  at  anything  he  wanted  to  see.  His  eyes 
were  not  satisfied  with  surface  observations;  they 
bored  in  like  gimlets.  Jean  met  his  scrutiny  for 
a  moment  and  turned  away;  but  Walsh's  eyes  dwelt 
still  on  her  head,  then  he  glanced  toward  Wayne, 
then  back  to  Jean  again.  He  seemed  satisfied  with 
this  inspection  and  asked  her  how  she  was  getting 
on  with  her  studies.  When  she  had  answered,  his 
"Um"  was  so  colourless  that  she  smiled;  his  mind 
had  been  on  something  else  all  the  while. 

"Your  grandfather  had  never  talked  to  Wayne 
about  the  Sand  Creek  affair,  I  suppose?" 

''Yes,"  she  replied  with  reluctance;  but  on  second 
thought  she  answered  him  fully.  In  spite  of  Walsh's 
gruffness  and  his  grim  countenance,  people  trusted 
him.  His  sources  of  information  were  many  because 


284  THE   LORDS   OF 

he  never  betrayed  a  confidence.  His  mind  was  a 
card  catalogue.  If  an  obscure  corner  grocer  at 
Johnstown  mortgaged  his  home  to  buy  an  automobile, 
Walsh  knew  it  first.  The  office  systems  that  Roger 
Craighill  delighted  in  installing  had  always  annoyed 
Walsh.  Now  that  he  was  managing  his  own  business 
his  office  was  conducted  with  the  severest  simplicity. 
He  checked  his  own  trial  balances;  he  would, 
without  warning,  throw  up  a  window  and  demand 
of  a  startled  drayman  the  destination  of  a  certain 
crate  or  cask,  to  which  he  pointed  with  a  sturdy, 
accusing  forefinger. 

It  was  not  for  Jean  Morley  to  withhold  information 
from  Tom  Walsh;  it  seemed  the  most  natural  thing 
in  the  world  to  be  imparting  it. 

"These  people  have  no  idea  that  I  am  related  to 
Grandfather  Gregory.  Mr.  Wayne  Craighill  has 
no  idea  of  it;  Mrs.  Blair  doesn't  know  it  —  she  knows 
me  only  officially,  you  might  say;  she's  on  a  com 
mittee  of  the  Institute  that  looks  out  for  young 
women  students  who  have  no  homes  here.  It's 
strange  that  I  should  have  fallen  in  their  way;  and 
now  Fm  here  in  Colonel  Craighill's  house!  It 
wouldn't  do  for  grandfather  to  know  that  —  it 
would  make  him  angry.  But  grandfather  talked  to 
Mr.  Wayne  about  the  Sand  Creek  Company  matter 
just  a  few  days  ago.  Colonel  Craighill  wouldn't 
see  grandfather;  he  sent  word  to  him  that  he  could 
do  nothing  and  that  he'd  better  see  a  lawyer.  Mr. 
Wayne  met  grandfather  leaving  the  building  and 
took  him  back  to  his  own  office.  He  was  very 


HIGH   DECISION  285 

friendly  and  offered  to  help  arrange  a  settlement; 
but  grandfather  refused.  He's  very  indignant  at 
Colonel  Craighill  and  says  he's  going  to  make  him 
settle.  It's  because  he's  known  him  a  long  time  — 
many,  many  years,  I  suppose  —  that  he's  so  bitter. 
He  says  it  isn't  the  money  now  —  it's  the  injustice 
of  it." 

The  girl  had  spoken  eagerly  and  she  paused  now 
and  turned  to  see  if  the  others  were  observing  them. 
She  concluded  in  a  lower  tone: 

"I  don't  know  about  it;  it  may  not  be  a  just 
claim.  I  sometimes  think  grandfather  isn't  sane 
on  the  subject;  he  acts  queerly  and  keeps  coming 
to  town  to  see  Colonel  Craighill.  I  went  with  him 
to  see  you  in  the  hope  that  you  might  tell  him  to 
quit  bothering  about  it.  He  didn't  understand  that, 
having  been  with  Colonel  Craighill  so  long,  you 
wouldn't  want  to  discuss  his  affairs,  now  that  you 
have  left  him.  And  you  couldn't  do  anything  about 
the  claim  —  of  course." 

"Um!  I  couldn't  do  anything  for  your  grand 
father;  that  would  be  bad  faith  to  the  Colonel; 
but — Um!  —  I  might  do  it  for  you.  That  would 
be  different!" 

He  looked  at  her  kindly,  enjoying  her  mystification. 

"I  will  tell  you  this,  just  as  a  favour  to  you  and 
because  —  because  you  are  not  afraid  of  Wayne 
Craighill;  I'll  tell  you  that  the  claim  against  the 
Sand  Creek  property  is  good  in  law.  Wayne  knows 
it;  the  Colonel's  lawyer  told  him  so;  but  the  Colonel 
is  so  high  and  mighty  that  he  doesn't  want  to  pay 


286  THE   LORDS    OF 

any  attention  to  it.  He's  a  great  negotiator,  the 
Colonel;  he  wants  to  wait  until  Mr.  Gregory  gets 
real  hungry,  then  fix  it  up  with  him  in  a  large  spirit 
of  generosity  —  do  the  noble  thing  for  an  old  friend 
in  adversity.  But  this  is  treason,  young  woman, 
right  here  in  the  Colonel's  own  house.  Your  grandpa 
had  better  take  Wayne's  offer.  I  think  we'll  move 
over  there  with  the  others." 

He  rose  in  his  heavy  fashion  and  Wingfield,  who 
had  been  waiting  his  opportunity,  sat  down  beside 
Jean.  Wingfield's  face  showed  the  least  annoyance 
when,  a  moment  later,  having  seen  that  Mrs.  Craighill 
and  Walsh  were  taking  care  of  themselves,  Wayne 
drew  in  beside  him. 

"It's  well  you  joined  us;  we  were  about  to  say 
the  most  dreadful  things  of  you,  weren't  we,  Miss 
Morley?  But  now  we'll  discuss  the  diplodocus  in 
the  museum,  the  greatest  of  Pittsburg  topics.  Mrs. 
Craighill  has  just  been  telling  me  of  your  studies. 
Can  you  enlighten  me  as  to  whether  you  students 
of  the  graphic  arts  really  take  an  interest  in  music 
-  and  the  other  way  around  ?  I  have  my  doubts 
of  it;  one  art's  enough  at  a  time." 

"Oh,  the  students  at  the  Institute  all  go  to  the 
concerts  because  they  like  music  and  it  helps.  I 
went  to  the  Wagner  matinee  and  it  quite  inspired 
me;  I  wasn't  so  bad  for  several  days." 

"Ah,  you  were  there  at  that  matinee!  I  had 
expected  to  go  myself,  but  my  nerves  had  been 
screwed  up  like  a  fiddle-string  by  the  rumour  that 
the  harpist  was  threatened  with  a  felon  on  her  thumb ; 


HIGH  DECISION  287 

I  couldn't  have  stood  that.  The  troubles  of  an 
orchestra  are  innumerable,  I  assure  you,  Miss  Morley. 
I'm  always  bailing  out  some  fiddler  who  has  beaten 
his  wife.  And  the  oboe  is  a  dreadful  instrument; 
they  say  men  who  elect  it  as  their  life  work  always 
go  insane:  the  strain  of  piping  into  so  small  a  hole 
bursts  blood  vessels  in  the  brain.  Think  of  a  man 
giving  his  whole  life  to  perfecting  himself  on  an 
instrument  that  sends  him,  just  as  he  pipes  his  most 
perfect  note,  to  a  mad-house  for  his  pains." 

"For  mad-house  you  might  substitute  jail," 
remarked  Wayne.  "The  oboe  is  not  my  favourite 
instrument." 

'You  don't  know  an  oboe  from  a  parlour  melo- 
deon.  Please  don't  take  Mr.  CraighilPs  musical 
criticisms  seriously,  Miss  Morley.  He  and  I  are  on 
the  programme  committee  —  perhaps  it's  only  fair 
to  the  rest  of  the  community  to  say  that  we  are  it! 
We  wrestle  with  the  conductor  about  what  we  shall 
give  the  dear  people,  and  because  we  don't  give 
"request"  programmes  every  time  with  Sousa 
and  Beethoven  hashed  together,  the  newspapers 
jump  on  us  hard." 

When  at  ten  o'clock  the  door  closed  upon  the 
callers,  Mrs.  Craighill  declared  that  she  was  tired, 
and  carried  Jean  off  to  bed.  Wayne  understood 
perfectly,  however,  that  he  was  to  await  Mrs.  Craig- 
hill's  further  pleasure,  and  he  lighted  a  cigar  and 
made  himself  comfortable  before  the  fire.  In  a 
few  minutes  he  heard  the  murmur  of  her  skirts  on 
the  stair,  and  she  entered  quickly  with  accusation 


288  THE   LORDS   OF 

in  her  eyes.  He  rose  and  leaned  against  the  mantel 
shelf.  She  was  very  angry  in  her  pretty,  pouting 
way.  She  flung  herself  into  a  chair  and  broke  out 
at  once: 

"What  do  you  think  of  that?  Wasn't  the  girl 
enough  without  those  two  men?  The  most  hateful, 
hideous  persons  I  ever  met!'* 

"But,  Addie,  you  don't  suppose  I  asked  them 
here  ?  You've  got  to  be  reasonable  about  this.  The 
girl  was  unfortunate;  but  if  we  hadn't  picked  her 
up  we  should  have  been  in  a  box  if  these  men  had 
come  here.  It  strikes  me  that  we're  in  the  greatest 
luck." 

"But  why  did  the  men  come  at  all?  That  man 
Walsh  doesn't  go  to  people's  houses;  he's  a  malev 
olent  old  fellow;  he  has  the  most  dreadful  eyes 
I  ever  saw.  And  your  friend  Wingfield,  how  often 
does  he  call  here  in  the  course  of  the  year  ?  I  doubt 
if  he  was  ever  here  before.  You  told  him  I  was 
away,  didn't  you?  Please  answer  me  that!" 

"  Why,  yes,  Addie,  I  believe  I  did,"  and  he  paused 
blankly.  There  was  no  doubt  but  that  he  had  told 
Wingfield  of  Mrs.  CraighilPs  absence  that  morning 
when  he  fully  believed  that  she  had  gone;  but  that 
fact  only  added  plausibility  to  Wingfield's  story 
that  he  and  Walsh  had  been  driving  and  had  dropped 
in  for  a  brief  respite  from  the  storm.  Wingfield 
did  the  most  unaccountable  things;  this  was 
undoubtedly  one  of  them.  Having  said  as  much, 
he  felt  that  the  matter  might  be  dropped,  but  the 
evidence  in  rebuttal  was  immediately  thrust  upon 


HIGH  DECISION  289 

him.     Mrs.  Craighill  picked  up  four  visiting  cards 
and  held  them  out  for  his  inspection. 

"They  asked  for  your  father  and  me  at  the  door 
—  I  called  the  maid  upstairs  to  ask.  Why  do  you 
suppose  they  did  that  if  they  just  came  in  here  to  get 
warm  or  to  see  you?" 

"My  dear  Addie,  it's  as  plain  as  daylight  that 
they  were  driving;  that  Wingfield  —  it's  just  like 
him  —  got  cold,  and  Walsh  suggested  that  they  come 
into  the  house  to  get  warm;  and  Wingfield  —  well, 
you  simply  don't  know  Dick  —  he's  the  most  formal 
person  alive.  And  when  you  come  to  think  of  it 
he  did  the  right  thing  in  asking  for  everybody.  If 
we  were  all  in  Egypt  and  Dick  stopped  at  the  house 
to  warm  himself  he  would  leave  his  cards.  He 
would  have  a  feeling  about  it;  Dick's  a  fellow  of 
nice  feeling;  and  besides,  it  would  only  be  decent 
to  the  servants.  Please  don't  worry  over  this! 
You're  attributing  motives  to  those  fellows  that  are 
beneath  them.  Do  you  suppose  they  would  have 
turned  up  here  to-night  if  they  had  thought  you 
and  I  were  just  sitting  here  playing  checkers  together. 
Not  on  your  life,  Addie!  And  assuming  for  an 
instant  the  preposterous  idea  that  they  came  thinking 
we  were  alone,  why,  they  must  have  felt  pretty  cheap 
when  they  found  that  you  had  a  young  lady  guest 
in  the  house.  There's  nothing  to  trouble  over,  I 
tell  you." 

"  I  like  your  cheerful  way  of  disposing  of  the 
whole  business!  It  doesn't  seem  to  me  so  easy 
as  you  think.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  those  men 


290  THE   LORDS   OF 

going  calling  together  before?  I  don't  believe 
you  ever  did." 

"Well,  there  are  lots  of  things  I  don't  know  about 
Walsh,  and  Wingfield,  too,  for  that  matter.  Dick's 
always  studying  somebody.  He's  as  bad  as  Fanny 
for  fads,  though  he  chases  his  in  gum  shoes;  and 
just  now  he  thinks  he's  struck  a  new  type  in  Walsh. 
Oh,  Lord,  but  it's  funny!  It's  a  cinch  that  Walsh  has 
Dick  under  the  microscope.  Those  fellows  going 
sleigh-riding  is  too  sweetly  pastoral  for  any  use. 
It's  enough  to  make  Walsh's  thoroughbreds  laugh." 

Mrs.  Craighill  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  her 
eyes  brightened  with  a  rekindling  of  her  anger, 
coloured  now  by  what  seemed  to  be  a  genuine  fear. 

"Wayne,"  she  cried,  "what  is  there  about  that 
man  ?  He's  an  evil  being  of  some  kind.  That 
first  time  I  saw  him  at  Fanny's  he  affected  me  just 
as  he  did  to-night.  I  have  a  feeling  of  suffocation, 
of  smothering,  when  he  looks  at  me  and  those  little 
eyes  of  his  dance  like  devils." 

"Oh,  now,  Addie,  that's  coming  pretty  rough! 
Walsh  is  a  bully  old  fellow.  He  can't  help  not 
being  handsome,  but  he's  the  real  thing;  there's  no 
punk  in  Tom  Walsh.  He's  a  rare  fellow  and  he's  been 
mighty  kind  to  me.  You'd  better  forget  all  this  — 
it's  all  right.  That  girl  can  be  relied  on  —  she 
isn't  going  to  blab  —  why  should  she  ?  And  Walsh 
and  Wingfield  are  not  out  on  snowy  nights  looking 
for  a  chance  to  injure  anybody.  Don't  work  your 
self  into  a  morbid  frame  of  mind  about  these  things ; 
we  all  had  a  good  time  and  let  it  go  at  that.  Why, 


HIGH  DECISION  291 

old  Tom  Walsh  made  a  point  of  talking  to  you;  he 
isn't  the  fellow  to  bore  himself,  I  can  tell  you!" 

"Oh,  Walsh!"  she  wailed.  "That  hideous  mon 
ster!  What  do  you  think  he  has  asked  me  to  do!" 

"Well,  not  to  elope  with  him;  I'll  wager  he  didn't 
propose  that." 

"He  asked  me  to  go  driving  with  him!  He  said 
there  would  be  such  sleighing  to-morrow  as  we 
rarely  see  any  more.  He  said  he  would  show  me 
the  hills  and  that  I'd  see  we  had  winter  scenery  here 
just  as  good  as  Vermont." 

She  offered  this,  it  seemed,  as  a  last  proof  of 
Walsh's  depravity,  and  having  launched  it  in  half- 
sobs  she  waited  for  Wayne  to  mitigate  its  evil  if  he 
could.  The  laughter  with  which  he  greeted  her 
announcement  added  an  unneeded  straw  to  her 
burden  and  she  wept  bitterly,  bending  her  head 
upon  the  mantel-shelf.  She  was  an  effective  study 
in  grief,  but  Wayne's  humour  had  been  too  sincerely 
touched  to  leave  any  room  for  pity. 

"Oh,  Addie!  Walsh  asked  you  to  drive  with 
him !  He  asked  you  —  he  asked  you 

He  exploded  again,  but  when,  tearful  and  scorn 
ful,  she  turned  toward  him,  he  subsided  to  demand: 

"Well,  what  did  you  say?" 

"Oh,  I  said  I'd  go!     I  was  afraid  to  say  no!" 


CHAPTER  XXI 

SOUNDINGS    IN    DEEP    WATERS 

SHE  left  him  abruptly  and  ran  up  to  her  room. 
He  lighted  a  cigarette  and  pondered  the 
rapid  succession  of  events  that  had  so  filled  the  after 
noon  and  evening.  He  tried  to  find  a  natural 
explanation  for  everything,  but  the  effort  left  him 
vexed  and  confused.  He  had  reasoned  with  Mrs. 
Craighill  plausibly  enough,  but  the  appearance  of 
Walsh  and  Wingfield  had  been  extraordinary;  it 
was  wholly  unaccountable,  and  he  did  not  like  it. 
That  these  men  should  be  spying  upon  his  actions 
passed  belief;  but  what  did  this  odd  alliance  between 
the  men  argue?  He  roamed  the  rooms  restlessly. 
All  was  silent  above.  Under  the  same  roof,  here 
in  his  father's  house,  were  two  women,  unrelated 
and  irreconcilable,  pointing  him  to  different  paths. 
He  flashed  on  the  lights  in  the  dining  room  and 
leaned  in  the  doorway,  gazing  at  the  empty  table 
and  recalling  the  dinner  hour.  Jean  Morley  had 
sat  there;  the  soft  overhead  light  had  fallen  like  a 
benediction  on  her  head ;  her  grave  voice  still  sounded 
in  his  ears,  her  questioning  eyes  still  spoke  to  him 
when,  turning  off  the  lights,  he  stood  a  moment 
staring  into  the  dark. 

Then  he  struck  his  hands  together  and  went  to 

292 


THE  LORDS   OF  HIGH   DECISION   293 

the  back  hall  whose  windows  looked  toward  the 
garage.  The  lights  were  burning  on  the  second 
floor  and  passing  out  through  the  kitchen  he  ran 
across  the  snowy  court  and  up  the  rough  stairway 
to  Joe's  room. 

Joe  lay  sprawled  on  his  narrow  iron  bed  with  his 
face  to  the  wall.  The  room  was  lighted  by  a  single 
electric  lamp  that  hung  from  the  low  ceiling.  He 
sat  up  and  rubbed  his  eyes  as  Wayne  spoke  to  him. 

"What's  the  matter,  Joe?     Are  you  sick?" 

"Well,  I  wasn't  feeling  very  well.  I  guess  I 
got  a  cold." 

"I  came  in  to  speak  about  your  behaviour  this 
afternoon.  You  were  annoying  a  young  woman  out 
there  at  Rosedale;  you  must  have  been  following 
her  from  the  time  she  left  town;  she  is  a  friend  of 
my  sister's  and  I've  got  to  explain  to  both  of  them 
just  how  you  came  to  be  frightening  a  woman  in 
that  fashion.  What  have  you  to  say  for  yourself  ?  " 

Joe  threw  his  legs  over  the  side  of  the  bed  and 
shook  himself  together.  He  passed  his  hands  over 
his  face  wearily. 

"Oh,  my  God,  I  don't  know!  That's  what  I've 
been  lying  here  thinking  about  ever  since  I  brought 
you  home.  I  don't  know  why  I  did  it.  I  meant 
her  no  harm.  She  and  I  were  friends  together  up  in 
the  anthracite  country  where  I  come  from.  We  went 
to  school  together;  I've  known  Jean  a  long  time." 

"That  doesn't  give  you  any  right  to  scare  her  to 
death.  I  ought  to  fire  you  for  this.  It  puts  me  in 
a  nice  position,  having  my  chauffeur  running  after 


294  THE   LORDS   OF 

one  of  my  sister's  friends.  If  she  should  tell  Mrs. 
Blair  what  you  did  you'd  have  to  go.  My  family 
are  not  so  warm  for  you,  anyhow." 

"Yes;  I  know  that.  The  Colonel  doesn't  like 
having  me  round,  and  I  guess  you  don't  need  me; 
but  you  don't  have  to  bounce  me;  I'll  quit.  I  guess 
I'm  all  in.  I'm  no  good,  anyhow." 

His  dejection  was  complete;  his  tame  submission 
blunted  the  edge  of  Wayne's  wrath. 

'This  isn't  a  good  job  for  you;  there  isn't  enough 
to  do.  You  say  " He  hesitated.  Many  ques 
tions  as  to  Jean  Morley  thronged  through  his  mind; 
but  the  girl  was  a  guest  in  his  house;  he  could  not 
seek  information  about  her  from  a  servant.  Joe, 
as  though  divining  his  thoughts,  straightened  himself 
suddenly. 

"She's  a  fine  girl;  there  ain't  a  finer  in  the  world. 
She  ain't  like  me  —  she's  smart,  she's  got  ambition 
and  she'll  make  good.  You  don't  need  to  think 
because  I  followed  her  that  I  meant  any  harm  to 
her.  I'm  watching  her;  I'm  looking  after  her. 
If  any  man  means  any  harm  to  her  I'll  kill  him; 
yes,  by  God!" 

"Don't  be  a  fool;  you  seem  to  be  the  only  person 
that's  trying  to  injure  her,"  replied  Wayne  coldly. 
"  Just  another  such  performance  as  that  of  this 
afternoon  and  you'll  give  her  friends  cause  for 
wonder." 

Wayne  had  spoken  quietly,  for  Joe  was  utterly 
unlike  himself.  He  was  either  ill  or  drunk  and 
Joe's  record  for  sobriety  was  flawless.  The  chauf- 


HIGH  DECISION  295 

feur  rose  now  and  pointed  an  accusing   finger    at 
Wayne,  crying  out  huskily: 

"I  want  to  know  why  you  re  takin'  so  much 
interest  in  her!  I'd  like  to  know  what  she  is  to  you! 
She's  not  for  you  rich  chaps  that  think  you  can  get 
any  poor  girl  you  want  with  money!  I  tell  you,  Mr. 
Wayne  Craighill,  you  can't  have  her.  If  I  can't 
have  her,  nobody  can.  Now,  you  remember  that; 
remember  it  or  it'll  be  the  worse  for  you!" 

"Shut  up,  you  fool,"  cried  Wayne,  closing  the  door. 
"You  needn't  shout  to  the  whole  town.  Now,  I'm 
done  with  you;  I  want  you  to  clear  out;  I  don't 
want  to  find  you  on  the  place  to-morrow." 

"What  you're  doing,"  cried  Joe,  not  heeding, 
but  intent  upon  some  train  of  thought  of  his  own  - 
"what  you're  all  doing  is  to  try  to  jolly  that  girl  so 
she'll  keep  old  man  Gregory  off  of  you.  I  know 
about  that  business -- how  the  Colonel  swindled 
him  and  lied  to  him.  And  now  it's  your  sister,  and 
now  it's  you  and  the  Colonel's  wife  that's  trying  to 
fool  her.  It's  rotten,  it's  rotten,  the  way  you've 
all  of  you  treated  the  old  man." 

Wayne  sat  down  on  the  single  chair  in  the  room. 
He  was  quite  calm,  for  it  was  clear  that  Joe  was  really 
ill;  the  fever  shone  in  his  eyes  and  his  voice  was 
hoarse  and  strained.  But  there  was  something 
here  that  required  explanation. 

"Sit  down,  Joe,  and  stop  shouting.  You  seem 
to  be  about  half  out  of  your  head.  Now  what  has 
Miss  Morley  to  do  with  old  man  Gregory  and  how 
do  you  come  to  know  him  and  his  affairs  ?" 


296  THE   LORDS   OF 

"How  do  I  come  to  know?"  Joe,  huddled  on 
the  edge  of  the  bed,  stared  stupidly. 

"He's  Jean's  grandfather  —  her  mother's  father. 
They  live  up  there  in  Denbeigh.  Old  man  Gregory 
used  to  live  down  here;  he  had  a  little  mine  in  the 
Sand  Creek  district,  and  ran  it  himself,  but  he 
couldn't  make  it  go.  Then  the  Colonel  got  it  away 
from  him  to  put  into  the  combine.  He  told  the 
old  man  it  was  no  good  anyhow,  but  to  help  him 
out  he'd  pay  him  something  down  and  more  on  the 
tonnage  if  they  ever  opened  it  again.  See?  Greg 
ory  had  run  a  grocery  on  the  side  and  bought  goods 
of  the  Wayne-Craighill  Company  away  back  there. 
But  the  old  man  thinks  the  Colonel  handed  him 
the  chilly  mitt.  And  now  the  old  man  knows  he 
is  about  all  in  and  he  wants  to  get  what's  coming 
for  Jean.  And  he'll  play  the  game  out  --  he's 
that  kind.  Every  time  he's  got  ready  to  land  one 
on  the  Colonel  the  Colonel  side-steps  —  he  side 
steps,  see?  And  Gregory's  a  fine  old  gent  that 
everybody's  robbed  all  his  life.  And  if  you  didn't 
know  he  was  Jean's  grandfather,  why  have  you  all 
been  chasing  her  —  what's  she  to  you,  say?" 

Joe  had  flung  much  scorn  into  his  recital  —  the 
fine  scorn  of  his  kind,  with  much  use  of  the  stiffened 
right  arm  and  hand  by  way  of  gesticulation. 

"This  Gregory  matter  is  none  of  your  business, 
but  to  straighten  you  out  a  little,  I'll  tell  you  that  this 
is  the  first  I  knew  of  Miss  Morley's  relationship  to 
Gregory.  As  for  my  sister,  I  doubt  if  she  ever  heard 
of  Gregory.  Her  interest  in  Miss  Morley  is  pure 


HIGH   DECISION  297 

friendliness  and  good  will.  And  my  father  has  never 
heard  of  Miss  Morley,  I'm  sure  of  that.  I'm  telling 
you  this  not  because  you  are  entitled  to  it,  but  because 
you've  always  been  a  decent  fellow  and  if  you  know 
these  people  it's  just  as  well  you  should  have  the 
straight  of  it  as  to  our  treatment  of  them.  If  old 
man  Gregory  has  a  just  claim  against  my  father  it 
will  be  paid;  and  Miss  Morley  has  nothing  to  do 
with  it.  And  if  you  weren't  sick  I'd  give  you  a 
thrashing  for  speaking  of  that  young  woman  as  you 
have.  I  ought  to  do  it  for  your  outrageous  conduct 
this  afternoon  anyhow.  That's  too  rank  to  be 
overlooked." 

''Well,  you  let  her  alone,  you  let  her  alone;  that's 
what  I  say !  I  saw  you  walkin'  with  her ;  I  followed 
you  that  night  you  took  her  home  from  the  concert. 
I  tell  you,  you  can't  do  it;  you  can't  do  it!  It's  all 
right  about  what  you've  done  for  me;  I  ain't  forgot 
it,  and  I  ain't  goin'  to  forget  it.  But  you  can't 
have  her;  you  can't  have  her!  And  I'm  goin' 
away  from  here;  I  ain't  goin'  to  work  for  you  any 
more." 

Wayne  rose  to  the  spur  of  his  own  dignity.  He 
could  not  be  placed  in  the  position  of  accounting  to 
a  half-delirious  servant  for  his  attentions  to  a  young 
woman.  He  looked  down  at  the  crumpled  figure 
on  the  bed  contemptuously. 

"You  poor  damned  fool,"  he  said,  and  walked 
slowly  toward  the  door. 

He  had  not  been  in  these  upper  rooms  of  the  old 
barn  since  he  had  played  in  them  as  a  child,  during 


298   THE   LORDS   OF  HIGH   DECISION 

the  reign  of  a  favourite  coachman.  He  glanced  about 
for  traces  of  the  old  times.  There  was  an  old- 
fashioned  bureau  between  the  windows  littered  with 
Joe's  humble  toilet  articles.  Photographs  of  mighty 
lords  of  the  diamond  were  tacked  to  the  walls.  With 
his  hand  on  the  door,  Wayne's  glance  fell  upon  the 
framed  likeness  of  Jean  Morley  —  a  face  younger 
than  that  he  knew  and  sweet  with  the  charm  of 
young  girlhood.  The  eyes  met  his;  the  lips  smiled 
wistfully.  He  bent  his  head  slightly  and  went  out. 

Joe  crossed  to  the  window  and  pressing  his  face 
to  the  cold  pane  watched  Wayne  running  swiftly 
toward  the  house.  Then  he  drew  down  the  shade 
and  snatched  the  picture  from  the  wall.  He  gazed 
at  it  long  and  earnestly,  with  awe  and  wonder  and 
fear  alight  in  his  eyes ;  then  he  restored  it  to  its  place 
with  shaking  hands  and  crept  back  to  bed. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

A  CONFERENCE  AT  THE  ALLEQUIPPA 

ON  THEIR  return  to  the  Allequippa  Club  Walsh 
and  Wingfield  sought  a  quiet  corner  of  the 
smoking-room  and  sat  down  to  take  account  of 
their  adventures,  Walsh  with  a  steaming  hot  whiskey 
before  him,  Wingfield  with  his  usual  glass  of  koumiss, 
which  he  sipped  sparingly.  They  were  silent  until 
Walsh's  cigar  had  begun  to  burn  satisfactorily. 
It  was  he  that  spoke  first. 

"That  little  Estabrook  mare  has  good  wind;  I 
never  tried  her  in  the  snow  before.  There's  zip 
in  her  legs,  all  right." 

' '  It  was  a  good  idea  of  yours,  the  sleigh-ride.  I  wish 
I  had  your  knack  of  telling  a  horse  from  a  goat.  The 
beasts  they  always  sell  me  wouldn't  make  good  glue." 

"Urn." 

A  proper  interval  was  necessary  to  set  the  mare 
apart  from  other  subjects,  and  they  played  with 
their  glasses. 

"She's  a  little  brittle-  'Fragile;  handle  with 
care,'  !  remarked  Walsh  presently. 

Wingfield  blinked  behind  his  glasses. 

"That  mare  —  oh,  no,  I  see!" 

"That  woman  up  there.  She's  like  glass  — 
bright,  tolerably  transparent,  and  easily  smashed." 

299 


300  THE   LORDS   OF 

"I  don't  know  about  her  being  so  transparent. 
It  seems  to  me  she's  pretty  clever  —  a  little  subtle, 
maybe.  She  doesn't  seem  to  have  been  anybody 
in  particular,  yet  she  landed  the  Colonel  with  an 
artificial  fly." 

Walsh  shook  his  head. 

"You're  in  wrong.  She  didn't  land  the  Colonel. 
She  couldn't  have  done  it.  She  wouldn't  have  had 
the  nerve.  An  older  hand  played  the  line  and  made 
the  cast;  but  she  was  the  pretty  fly,  all  right." 

"Well,  of  course  I  didn't  know,"  replied  Wingfield 
humbly,  wondering  again  at  the  ramifications  of 
Walsh's  knowledge. 

"Should  you  say  she  had  the  come-hither  in  her 
eye?" 

Wingfield  had  spoken  lightly,  but  he  was  rebuked 
by  the  unmistakable  displeasure  in  Walsh's  face. 
The  old  fellow  shrugged  his  shoulders  but  when  he 
spoke  there  was  kindness  in  his  tone. 

"She's  kind  o'  pathetic  to  me.  There's  nothing 
hard  in  her.  As  I  said,  she's  like  glass,  and  when 
that  kind  break  it's  just  get  the  broom  and  sweep 
out  the  pieces,  that's  all.  But  I  don't  like  to  hear 
the  tinkle  of  broken  glass.  There  ain't  much  satis 
faction  in  seeing  human  nature  topple  and  fall  off 
the  shelf  —  men  or  women.  The  strong  ones,  the 
heavy  pottery,  can  drop  hard  and  roll  some;  clay's 
coarser;  but  these  weak  ones  —  it  makes  you  sick." 

Walsh  was  silent  for  a  moment,  then,  seeing  that 
he  had  checked  Wingfield,  he  asked: 

"How  did  the  situation  up  there  strike  you?" 


HIGH   DECISION  301 

"It  was  proper  enough  —  quite  beautiful  and 
domestic.  I  don't  suppose  Wayne  ever  spent  a 
whole  evening  at  home  before  in  his  life.  How  do 
you  explain  the  other  woman  —  a  sort  of  chaperone 
rung  in  to  improve  the  looks  of  things  ?  " 

"It  doesn't  make  any  difference  how  she  got  there; 
that  ain't  our  business;  but  I  felt  better  when  I  saw 
her  there.  She's  a  good  girl;  she's  all  right." 

Walsh's  omniscience  would  have  annoyed  Wing- 
field  if  he  had  not  so  greatly  admired  it.  It  seemed 
that  Walsh  not  only  possessed  much  information 
as  to  the  private  affairs  of  the  Craighill  family  but 
that  his  knowledge  covered  also  the  casual  stranger 
within  the  Craighill  gates. 

"Who's  the  girl?"  he  ventured  carelessly;  and 
Walsh's  "Um"  seemed  for  a  moment  to  have  been 
interposed  as  a  rebuff.  But  Walsh  stirred  his  glass 
slowly  and  replied : 

"It  certainly  beats  hell  how  things  come  around. 
That  girl's  grandfather  is  one  of  these  old  fellows 
that  ought  to  have  been  rich  if  he'd  had  any  sense. 
He  owned  a  lot  of  coal  land  around  here  years  ago 
but  he  swindled  himself  out  of  it  in  one  way  or 
another.  He  got  cleaned  out  down  here  and  moved 
up  into  the  anthracite  country  where  he  never  did 
any  good.  He's  got  a  claim  against  the  Colonel  on 
account  of  a  coal  mining  company  that  the  Colonel 
took  over  and  merged  with  a  lot  of  other  small 
concerns  about  ten  years  ago.  He  and  the  Colonel 
were  old  friends,  and  Gregory,  this  Morley  girl's 
grandfather,  thought  the  Colonel  so  great  and  good 


THE   LORDS   OF 

that  he  wouldn't  do  even  a  blind  and  deaf  and  dumb 
beggar  in  a  horse  trade.  The  facts  were  that  the 
Colonel,  being  smooth  on  negotiation  and  an  impres 
sive  party  to  send  out  to  make  deals,  was  'used' 
right  along  by  the  fellows  he  was  in  with.  The 
Colonel  didn't  know  he  was  doing  the  other  fellow 
half  the  time  —  it  was  so  easy  and  his  associates 
told  him  what  to  do.  Gregory  was  practically  the 
sole  owner  of  the  Sand  Creek  property;  he  had 
worked  it  himself  and  failed  to  make  any  money,  and 
the  Colonel  offered  to  take  it  into  the  combination 
just  as  a  favour  to  an  old  friend.  They  wiped  out 
the  old  Gregory  company  --  took  over  the  stocks  and 
bonds  —  but  the  Colonel  made  a  personal  agreement 
with  the  old  man,  as  a  sort  of  sop,  that  at  the  end 
of  ten  years,  if  coal  should  be  mined  in  the  property, 
he  should  be  paid  a  royalty.  There  was  no  contract 
—  he  wrote  a  letter  about  it.  Well,  they're  work 
ing  Gregory's  property  all  right  —  found  a  lower 
vein,  and  it's  fine  coking  coal,  which  they  mine 
economically  through  the  old  workings.  The  Col 
onel  is  only  a  figurehead  now  in  the  new  corpora 
tion  —  his  name  looks  good  when  they  want  anything 
done  at  Harrisburg  —  see  ?  And  the  real  powers 
in  the  company  can't  hear  Gregory  —  don't  know 
anything  about  the  Colonel's  promises  --  say  the 
agreement  was  made  without  authority  —  and  there 
you  are." 

Walsh  breathed  heavily  and  lighted  a  fresh  cigar. 

"If  it  was  a  personal  agreement,  of  course  it's  no 
good   if  the   Colonel   won't   see   it!     But   we   don't 


HIGH   DECISION  303 

expect  the  Colonel  to  do  that  sort  of  thing  —  the 
soul  of  honour  and  all  that!" 

"The  soul  of  punk  and  piffle!"  grunted  Walsh. 
"Mr.  Wingfield,  it's  worth  remembering  that  we're 
all  human  beings  —  poor,  damned,  stumbling  sinners, 
even  you  and  me.  The  Colonel's  a  good  man;  he 
means  well,  but  he  hasn't  any  more  influence  with 
that  corporation  than  the  waiter  who  pours  soup 
in  this  club.  In  all  these  corporations  Craighill's  in, 
they  don't  pay  any  attention  to  him  except  when 
they've  got  something  that  he  can  do,  like  appearing 
before  investigating  committees  and  that  sort  of 
thing.  He  hardly  remembers  that  he  ever  knew 
Gregory,  and  his  lawyer  has  interpreted  that  agree 
ment  to  mean  coal  mined  on  the  property  as  it  existed 
when  it  was  taken  over  —  which  doesn't  touch  the 
lower  vein.  Do  you  get  the  idea?" 

"Didn't  the  Colonel  know  about  the  lower  vein? 
And  didn't  Gregory  know?" 

"I  doubt  if  Gregory  knew  —  he  dates  back  to  the 
time  when  anybody  with  a  pick  and  coal  scuttle 
could  go  into  bituminous  around  here.  He'd  been 
a  preacher  or  a  school-teacher  or  something  like  that, 
and  really  didn't  know  mine-run  from  Easter  eggs." 

"So  it's  not  a  business  proposition  strictly,  but 
a  matter  of  personal  morals  —  which  is  far  more 
interesting.  Thank  you  for  the  information.  The 
Colonel  interests  me  deeply;  he  presents  rare 
psychological  problems.  This  incident  confirms  one 
of  my  impressions  concerning  him  —  that  he's  not 
an  acute  person,  and  that  he  might  even  go  far  wrong 


304  THE   LORDS   OF 

-  through  his  vanity  and  conceit  —  and  be  utterly 
unconscious   of  it." 

"Urn." 

"And  the  girl?" 

"Oh,  the  girl's  down  here  studying  art.  Mrs.  Blair 
seems  to  have  taken  her  up.  Just  how  Mrs. 
Craighill  got  hold  of  her  I  don't  know,  but  it  isn't 
important.  I  could  see  it  in  Mrs.  CraighilPs  eye 
that  she  was  glad  the  girl  was  there.  The  girl  and 
her  grandfather  were  down  to  see  me  the  other  day 
about  the  old  man's  claim,  but  I  couldn't  give  him 
any  encouragement.  An  old  chump  like  that 
oughtn't  to  have  any.  I  don't  pose  as  a  philan 
thropist,  Mr.  Wingfield,  and  it  wouldn't  be  loyal  to 
the  Colonel,  considering  the  long  years  I  spent  with 
him,  to  give  comfort  to  his  enemies." 

Walsh  lifted  his  head  virtuously  and  lost  himself 
in  a  prodigious  cloud  of  smoke.  Wingfield,  watch 
ing  for  a  reappearance  of  the  heavy,  inscrutable 
face,  could  have  sworn  that  he  saw  a  smile  curl  the 
old  man's  thin  lips. 

"Oh,  of  course!  You  have  always  been  loyal 
to  the  Colonel.  Nobody  would  question  that." 

"I  couldn't  do  anything  for  Gregory,  the  poor  old 
ass,  but  I  gave  the  girl  a  tip  to-night  to  tell  him  to 
go  ahead." 

Wingfield,  with  his  elbow  on  the  table,  stroked 
his  beard.  Walsh  was  really  the  most  interesting 
person  he  knew. 

"'Well,  she's  a  pretty  girl,  and  I  don't  blame  you," 
he  remarked,  leadingly. 


HIGH  DECISION  305 

"All  girls  are  pretty,"  growled  Walsh.  "But 
she  seemed  sensible  and  she  has  fine  teeth.  By  the 
way,  I'm  going  to  take  the  madam  out  driving 
to-morrow.  I  made  a  date  with  her  to-night.  You 
see,  the  Colonel  won't  be  home  until  the  next  morn 
ing  and  —  well,  you  don't  get  a  snow  like  this  every 
winter  —  no-siree!" 

Walsh  poked  the  lemon  peel  in  the  bottom  of  his 
glass  with  a  spoon  while  his  announcement  sank 
into  Wingfield's  consciousness. 

"  I  must  say  that  you  have  your  nerve!  Have  you 
ever  appeared  in  public  with  any  woman  since  you 
came  to  towrn  ?" 

"Nope;  but  it  is  time  I  was  beginning.  I 
like  Mrs.  Craighill;  she's  the  wife  of  my  old 
employer  and  I'm  an  old  man  and  she's  a  young 
woman.  If  I  can't  take  her  driving  behind  the 
best  roadster  in  Pennsylvania  I  should  like  to  know 
why!  Besides,  if  she's  driving  with  me  she  ain't 
in  any  mischief.  I  guess  I'm  safe!" 

Their  eyes  met;  it  was  perfectly  clear  to  Wing- 
field  that  Walsh  had  asked  Mrs.  Craighill  to  drive 
with  him  merely  to  occupy  her  time  and  to  impart 
to  her  a  sense,  thus  delicately  conveyed,  of  his 
espionage. 

"She's  not  stupid;  she  knew  why  I  asked  her  to 
go,"  said  Walsh,  chewing  his  bit  of  lemon  peel.  "It 
made  her  hot.  I  wras  afraid  for  a  minute  that  she 
would  blow  up;  but  she  didn't  dare.  She's  afraid 
of  me." 

Wingfield   was  trying   a  new   medicated   biscuit, 


which  the  Club  kept  for  his  benefit,  and  Walsh  took 
one  and  ate  it  slowly.  He  seemed  unusually  well 
pleased  with  himself. 

"  What  do  you  think  Wayne  will  do  to  us  ?"  asked 
Wingfield. 

"Nothing;  he'll  not  say  a  word.  The  joke's  on 
him,  and  when  he  takes  a  second  thought  he'll  be 
much  obliged  to  us." 

"It  was  rather  raw  —  our  doing  it.  That  Morley 
girl  is  pretty,  isn't  she  —  something  really  noble 
about  her?" 

"Um!  Too  bad  the  art  microbe's  in  her  system. 
She's  too  good  for  that,"  and  having  disposed  of 
Miss  Morley's  ambitions,  Walsh  rose  and  shook 
the  trousers  down  on  his  fat  legs  and  declared  that 
it  was  time  to  go  to  bed.  Wingfield  lingered  at 
the  table  speculating,  over  a  fresh  bottle  of  koumiss, 
as  to  the  means  by  which  Walsh  had  learned  that 
Mrs.  Craighill  had  abandoned  the  Boston  trip. 

Above,  in  his  own  room,  Walsh  re-read  the 
telegram  which  had  brought  this  information,  re-read 
it  several  times,  in  fact,  and  then  tore  it  into  many 
pieces  which  he  flung  into  his  grate  fire. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE    END    OF    A    SLEIGH-RIDE 

IT  PLEASED  Mrs.  Craighill  to  breakfast  in  her 
sitting  room  the  following  morning.  Wayne, 
finding  himself  deserted,  drank  his  coffee  alone 
in  the  dining  room,  with  the  newspapers  for  company. 
His  father's  chauffeur  sent  word  to  the  house  that 
Joe  was  sick  and  Wayne  ordered  a  doctor  summoned 
before  going  to  his  office. 

Mrs.  Craighill  had  spent  a  bad  night  and  no  very 
pleasant  thoughts  had  visited  her  pillow.  The 
preceding  day  had  been  the  most  disagreeable  of 
her  life.  She  felt  herself  shut  in  and  trammelled 
in  a  thousand  ways.  The  snowy  vesture  of  the 
urban  landscape  disclosed  by  her  windows,  the 
renewed  and  purified  world  that  lay  bright  in  the  full 
glare  of  the  winter  sun,  awoke  no  response  in  her 
heart.  In  her  prettiest  of  morning  gowns  she  seemed 
to  Jean  Morley  the  loveliest  and  most  fortunate  of 
beings;  but  to  her  the  girl  was  only  a  reminder  of 
yesterday's  untoward  events.  Jean's  steady,  grave 
eyes,  tranquil  from  restful  slumber  and  her  freshness 
-  the  glow  of  her  skin  from  the  bath,  her  appear 
ance  of  zest  for  the  new  day's  business  —  only 
irritated  Mrs.  Craighill  as  they  sat  at  the  tiny  table 
that  had  been  improvised  before  the  sitting  room  fire. 

307 


308  THE   LORDS   OF 

One  thing  must  be  done  and  done  quickly:  Mrs. 
Blair  must  be  advised  of  her  presence  in  town. 
She  must  plead  illness  as  her  excuse  for  not  having 
gone  to  Boston.  Before  the  breakfast  was  finished 
she  went  to  the  extension  telephone  in  her  bedroom 
and  called  the  Blair  house. 

"Mrs.  Blair  is  not  at  home.  She  went  South 
last  night  with  Mr.  Blair.  His  mother  is  ill  in 
Georgia  and  they  left  in  a  hurry.  They  didn't  know 
when  they'd  be  back." 

This  information,  conveyed  by  Mrs.  Blair's 
maid,  was  only  half  a  relief.  Here  was  still  Jean 
Morley  to  reckon  with;  and  it  flashed  upon  her 
at  once  that  the  girl  was  now  essential  to  her. 
She  returned  to  the  sitting  room  and  concluded 
her  breakfast.  Her  manner  was  decidedly  more 
friendly.  When  Jean  rose  to  go  she  protested 
cordially. 

"Oh,  you  have  been  very  good  to  me!  I  have 
enjoyed  this  visit  more  than  I  can  tell  you,  Mrs. 
Craighill.  And  I  am  sorry  to  put  you  to  so  much 
trouble.  I  was  very  silly  yesterday  and  made  a  lot 
of  fuss  that  wasn't  at  all  necessary.  I  usually  do 
better  than  that.  I  hope  you  won't  think  the  worse 
of  me  for  what  happened." 

"You  dear  child,  of  course  I  shan't,"  cried  Mrs. 
Craighill,  seizing  her  hands.  Her  spirits  lifted  as 
she  saw  that  Jean  was  intent  on  her  own  plight; 
that  probably  she  had  been  thinking  wholly  of  the 
strange  figure  she  had  made  in  her  flight  to  the 
club-house,  and  that  the  fact  of  there  being  anything 


HIGH   DECISION  309 

unusual  in  the  presence  there  of  another  woman  and 
a  man  had  not  occurred  to  her. 

"Such  a  thing  is  likely  to  happen  to  any  of  us," 
declared  Mrs.  Craighill,  laughing.  "And  there 
we  were  —  Mr.  Craighill  and  I --just  as  lost  and 
forlorn  as  you  were!  It  was  so  silly  of  us  all  to  get 
lost  in  the  storm  that  I  think  we'd  better  not  tell  any 
one  about  it  —  don't  you  ?  " 

'You  may  be  sure  I'm  not  proud  of  my  part  in 
it,"  declared  Jean;  "but  I  must  send  back  the 
housekeeper's  shoes,  and  get  my  own." 

"Oh,  don't  think  of  it!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Craighill, 
to  whom,  in  the  new  confidence  established  between 
them,  a  mere  item  of  shoes  seemed  the  most  negligible 
thing  in  the  world.  "I'm  going  to  get  you  to  accept 
—  please !  —  a  pair  of  shoes  from  me  —  a  souvenir 
of  the  occasion  —  and  I'll  see  that  the  borrowed  ones 
get  back  to  Rosedale." 

"  Well  -  '  began  Jean,  taken  aback  by  Mrs. 
Craighill's  animation. 

"Of  course  these  shoes  must  go  back;  and  we'll 
have  the  shop  send  up  a  lot  for  you  to  choose  from 
this  afternoon.  And  now  I'm  going  to  ask  a  great 
favour  of  you,  Miss  Morley.  I  don't  like  being 
alone,  and  I  wish  you  would  come  and  dine  with  me 
again  to-night;  I  shall  very  likely  be  all  alone - 
you  know  my  husband  is  in  Boston,  and  Mr. 
Wayne  is  very  uncertain.  We  can  have  a  fine,  long 
evening  together.  You  know  I'm  just  a  little  bit 
jealous  that  Mrs.  Blair  has  a  share  in  your  work,  and 
here  am  I,  quite  on  the  outside!" 


310  THE   LORDS   OF 

"I  shall  be  very  glad  to  come,"  said  Jean;  "only, 
it  will  spoil  me,  so  much  splendour!  I'll  have  to 
go  down  to  my  boarding  house  from  school,  but  I'll 
come  here  late  in  the  afternoon." 

"That  is  very  dear  of  you.  If  I'm  not  in  when 
you  come  you  will  be  expected;  and  do  make  your 
self  perfectly  at  home.  That  strange  Mr.  Walsh 
has  asked  me  to  drive  with  him  in  the  park  this 
afternoon  —  he's  a  great  horseman,  you  know,  and 
an  old  friend  of  Mr.  Craighill's.  I'm  just  a  little 
afraid  of  him;  but  he  really  means  to  be  kind,  don't 
you  think  so  ?  He  seemed  very  much  interested  in 
you  last  night  —  he  told  me  you  were  very  nice  — 
there!" 

"He's  very  interesting  and  very  kind,  I  think. 
He  and  my  grandfather  know  each  other.  I'll  come, 
then,  about  five." 

Mrs.  Craighill  sighed  heavily  as  she  saw  the  girl 
depart;  but  after  all,  things  were  not  so  ill.  The 
absence  of  Mrs.  Blair  was  nothing  short  of  provi 
dential;  and  Jean  Morley  seemed  the  least  suspi 
cious  of  young  women.  Very  likely,  by  the  time 
Mrs.  Blair  returned,  the  girl  would  have  forgotten 
the  meeting  at  Rosedale  and  what,  Mrs.  Craighill 
asked  herself,  with  an  access  of  virtue  built  upon 
the  cheerier  mood  in  which  Jean  had  left  her,  what 
was  there  to  awaken  suspicion  in  any  mind  ?  Wayne 
she  had  ceased  to  consider  at  all;  his  conduct  had 
been  unpardonable,  and  she  was  well  rid  of  him. 
It  did  not  matter  whether  he  came  home  to  dine  or 
not;  if  he  appeared  she  would  punish  him  by  with- 


HIGH   DECISION  311 

drawing  early,  with  her  guest,  to  whom  his  attentions 
had  been  so  marked,  and  leave  him  to  his  own 
devices. 

Her  grievance  against  her  husband  for  leaving 
her  behind,  for  reasons  that  were  in  themselves  an 
insult,  hung  darkly  in  the  background.  She  was 
aware  that  she  never  could  feel  the  same  toward 
him;  in  her  heart  she  had  characterized  him  in 
harsh  terms  that  repeated  themselves  over  and  over 
in  her  mind. 

She  had  received  a  brief  note  from  him,  pencilled 
on  the  train,  and  a  clipping  from  a  New  York  paper 
with  the  programme  of  the  Boston  meeting.  He 
had  missed  her,  he  said,  and  would  be  glad  to  be 
home  again.  (There  was  a  little  sigh,  she  knew, 
that  accompanied  such  a  declaration  as  this,  imply 
ing  weariness  of  public  cares  and  a  longing  for  the 
peace  worn  warriors  crave  at  their  own  firesides.) 
The  clipping  she  placed  on  his  dressing  table;  the 
note  she  tossed  into  the  fire  contemptuously. 

She  dressed  before  luncheon  for  the  drive  with 
Walsh,  and  found  to  her  surprise  that  the  thought 
of  going  with  him  had  grown  less  hateful.  Even 
if  he  had  undertaken  to  watch  her,  it  was  rather 
interesting  that  one  had  to  be  watched.  Her  hus 
band  had  sacrificed  her  on  the  altar  of  his  own  van-' 
ity  without  the  slightest  compunction.  The  dignity 
of  life,  the  fine  security  and  chivalrous  protection 
which  she  had  expected  to  gain  by  her  marriage 
had  faded  into  nothing. 

She  put  on  her  hat  and  coat  and  waited  for  Walsh 


312  THE   LORDS   OF 

at  her  sitting  room  window,  and  punctually  at 
half-past  two  his  cutter  whirled  smartly  into  the 
grounds  and  round  to  the  porte  cochere.  She  took 
account  of  his  burly  figure  and  his  sturdy  arms 
holding  the  taut  reins  over  the  spirited,  graceful 
animal  he  drove.  His  cap,  drawn  low  on  his  head, 
made  him  almost  grotesque. 

She  was  about  to  run  down,  to  save  him  the 
trouble  of  ringing,  when  the  maid  brought  her  an 
immediate  delivery  letter  that  had  just  been  left 
at  the  door.  She  glanced  at  the  superscription  and 
clutched  it  in  her  gloved  fingers  for  a  moment  before 
opening  it,  as  though  at  truce  with  bad  news.  It 
was  a  letter  of  length  in  a  woman's  hand,  loose  and 
scrawling  as  though  by  one  distraught.  Mrs.  Craig- 
hill  raised  her  veil  and  read;  or  rather  she  caught  at 
the  sentences  which  seemed  to  dart  at  her  from  the 
paper : 

"I  was  never  so  outrageously  treated  in  my  life. 
The  idea  that  my  daughter's  husband  should  be 
ashamed  of  me!  I  hope  you  will  not  misjudge  me 
-you  have  not  always  been  just  with  me;  but  I 
only  did  what  was  entirely  proper.  The  fact  that 
he  thought  I  had  gone  abroad  after  your  marriage 
had  nothing  to  do  with  it,  though  he  seemed  to 
think  it  strange  you  hadn't  told  him  of  any  change  of 
plans.  It  was  none  of  his  business.  ...  I 
mailed  him  my  card  and  a  line  that  I  would  like 
to  see  him.  I  read  in  the  papers  that  he  was  at  the 
Broderick's,  and  your  note  told  me  that  you  would 
not  be  here.  Why  you  didn't  come  I  still  don't 
understand.  I  sent  my  card  to  him  and  waited  a 


HIGH   DECISION  313 

day.  Then  on  the  afternoon  of  the  second  day  I 
went  to  the  house  and  asked  for  him.  Oh,  you 
needn't  curl  your  lip;  I  tell  you  I  don't  intend  to 
have  him  ignore  me  in  that  fashion.  They  told  me 
he  was  resting,  but  I  wasn't  to  be  put  off.  He 
came  down  and  was  decent  enough  at  first;  then 
said  he  had  to  be  excused  as  he  was  to  speak  that 
night  and  needed  rest.  I  held  him  long  enough 
to  tell  him  that  I  had  got  tired  of  waiting  for  an 
invitation  to  visit  you  and  that  I  was  coming  down 
right  away.  He  said  that  you  were  free  to  do  as 
you  liked  about  having  visitors;  that  he  supposed 
I  was  in  Italy.  I  mildly  suggested  that  I  was  a 
little  short  of  money,  and  he  shut  up  like  a  clam. 
A  lady  —  I  suppose  it  was  the  Mrs.  Broderick  you 
hear  so  much  about  —  you  know  we  saw  her  three 
years  ago  in  Paris  —  passed  right  through  the  hall 
and  he  never  so  much  as  offered  to  introduce  me. 
I  expect  to  leave  Sunday  night  and  spend  Monday 
in  New  York  and  be  with  you  Tuesday.  This 
gives  you  a  day  or  two  to  bring  him  around 

"Mr.  Walsh  is  waiting,"  announced  the  maid. 

She  thrust  the  letter  into  a  drawer  of  her  desk 
and  went  down. 

Walsh  was  turning  the  cutter  in  the  courtyard 
at  the  rear  of  the  house  and  drove  into  the  covered 
entrance  as  she  opened  the  door.  With  a  merry 
jingle  of  bells  they  were  off.  She  was  relieved  to 
find  that  it  was  not  incumbent  upon  her  to  talk. 
Walsh's  interest  was  wholly  in  the  mare,  Estabrook 
stock,  he  informed  her,  whose  swift,  even  pace  he 
watched  with  delight.  When,  after  traversing  one 
of  the  boulevards,  they  swept  into  the  park,  many 


314  THE   LORDS   OF 

other  horsemen,  making  the  most  of  the  fine  sleigh 
ing,  looked  twice  at  Walsh,  who,  for  the  first  time 
within  man's  knowledge,  was  driving  with  a  woman 
beside  him.  These  horsemen  did  not  know  Mrs. 
Craighill;  and  even  the  few  acquaintances  they 
passed  seemed  not  to  recognize  her.  Walsh  bent 
toward  her  now  and  then,  without  taking  his  eyes 
from  the  mare,  and  shouted  short  sentences  which 
she  did  not  always  hear,  but  he  seemed  to  be  speak 
ing  of  the  horses  rather  than  of  the  persons  who 
drove  them.  When  other  sleighs  passed,  the  bells 
crashed  discordantly  in  her  ears  for  a  moment; 
then  the  rhythmic,  tuneless  jangle  from  the  long- 
striding  mare  floated  back  upon  them  like  an  echo. 

The  park's  undulations,  agleam  in  the  snow, 
the  rush  of  the  sleighs,  the  liveliness  and  cheer  of  the 
gay  pageant,  were  a  lure  to  the  eye  and  a  stimulus 
to  the  spirit.  Their  runners  slipped  over  the  close- 
packed  snow  as  though  the  splendid  mechanism 
of  the  horse  might  —  so  near  they  approached 
flight  —  at  any  moment  bear  them  skyward. 

Once  Walsh  asked  if  she  were  tired,  but  she 
shook  her  head  and  they  flew  on  again.  The  free 
dom  from  responsibility  as  they  sped  on  was  in 
itself  grateful;  she  was  even  able  to  forget  her 
self  at  times,  to  be  quite  detached  from  her  own 
thoughts. 

WThen  they  reached  the  house,  she  asked  him, 
quite  perfunctorily,  if  he  would  not  stop  and  warm 
himself.  Much  to  her  surprise  he  said  he  would. 
She  summoned  a  servant  but  Walsh  went  himself 


HIGH   DECISION  315 

to  blanket  and  house  the  mare.  When  he  returned 
she  was  waiting  for  him  in  the  library. 

"I'm  afraid  to  offer  a  man  tea,  but  you  can  have 
anything  you  like,  Mr.  Walsh." 

"Nothing,  thank  you,  Mrs.  Craighill,"  he  replied, 
rubbing  his  hands  briskly  at  the  fire.  She  rose 
to  the  need  of  making  talk  and  complimented  him 
upon  the  horse's  speed  and  endurance. 

"There's  good  blood  in  her;  and  they  say  blood 
tells.  She  could  keep  up  that  lick  all  afternoon. 
She  enjoyed  it  as  much  as  we  did." 

The  excellence  of  the  mare  having  been  agreed 
upon,  she  felt  herself  faltering  upon  the  edge  of 
another  abyss  of  silence.  But  with  only  an  instant's 
hesitation,  in  which  he  bent  the  gaze  of  his  odd 
little  eyes  upon  her  sharply,  he  said : 

"I  have  no  wish,  Mrs.  Craighill,  to  meddle  in 
your  private  affairs,  but  it  is  possible  that  I  may 
be  in  a  position  to  serve  you." 

She  clasped  her  hands  tightly  on  her  knees;  her 
heart  beat  fast. 

"I  am  sure  you  mean  to  be  kind,"  she  said,  unre- 
sponsively.  His  little  eyes,  as  she  met  them 
timorously,  regarded  her  with  something  akin  to 
pity.  The  lines  of  his  mask-like  face  seemed  softened 
as  by  some  stirring  of  grace  within.  At  his  next 
words  the  blood  poured  into  her  heart  as  though 
to  burst  it. 

"Please  believe  me,  Mrs.  Craighill,  that  I  speak 
to  you  with  the  greatest  respect,  and  with  the  best 
intentions.  You  are  in  distress.  You  have  had 


316  THE   LORDS   OF  HIGH  DECISION 

a  message  to-day  that  annoyed  you  very  much. 
It  is  not  important  just  how  I  came  to  know  it;  the 
important  thing  is  to  save  you  from  any  trouble." 

"I  don't  understand  —  I  don't  know  what  you 
mean,"  she  faltered. 

'Your  mother  is  threatening  you;  she  has  had 
an  unpleasant  encounter  with  your  husband,  and 
proposes  now  to  come  here  and  make  a  scene. 
Please  do  not  be  troubled,  madam.  If  it  were  not 
in  my  power  to  help  you,  you  may  be  sure  I  should 
spare  you  the  shock  of  hearing  this  from  me." 

"How  do  you  know --what  can  you  do?"  came 
from  her  in  whispers.  Her  face  was  white;  her 
tightly  clasped  hands  were  eloquent  of  great  inner 
stress. 

"Please  do  not  be  troubled.  I  want  your  mind 
to  be  at  rest.  Your  mother  may  come  to  this  town, 
but  you  will  not  know  it;  you  need  not  see  her. 
If  she  comes  she  will  go  again  very  quickly.  She 
will  not"  -and  he  glanced  about  the  room  — 
"  she  will  not  honour  this  house  with  her  presence." 

He  rose  clumsily,  and  turned  to  leave.  His 
manner,  his  voice,  had  reassured  her.  She  called 
to  him  softly  as  he  moved  toward  the  door,  and  he 
paused  and  faced  her.  She  walked  slowly  toward 
him,  scarcely  knowing  what  she  did,  and  put  out  her 
hand.  Her  lips  quivered;  tears  shone  in  her  eyes. 

"I  know  you  are  a  good  woman,"  he  said  simply, 
and  left  her. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

JEAN    ANSWERS    A   QUESTION 

WAYNE  had  not  appeared  for  dinner,  nor  had 
he  shown  himself  at  all  during  the  evening. 
In  the  morning,  however,  when  Mrs.  Craighill 
and  Jean  came  down  he  was  waiting  for  them  in 
the  library. 

"Your  father  is  coming  in  at  nine  o'clock,  and  I 
shall  meet  him  with  the  car.  You  and  Miss  Morley 
had  better  go  in  to  breakfast  now;  I  will  have  a  cup 
of  coffee  with  you." 

Jean  was  to  remain  until  Mrs.  Craighill  returned 
with  her  husband;  this  had  already  been  stipulated. 
Mrs.  Craighill  had  made  sure  of  the  girl;  their 
evening  together  had  afforded  ample  opportunity 
for  the  strengthening  of  ties  of  amity. 

She  had  tested  Jean  in  her  own  way  and  found 
her  singularly  guileless.  In  the  quiet  of  Mrs. 
Craighill' s  sitting  room  she  had  thrown  open  doors 
that  revealed  the  narrow  vistas  of  a  happy  girlhood; 
and  a  certain  forlornness  due  to  Jean's  identification, 
in  Mrs.  Craighill's  mind,  with  wet  shoes  and  shabby, 
bedraggled  skirts,  yielded  to  the  charm  of  the  girl's 
simplicity  and  candour.  It  was  a  revelation  to 
Adelaide  Craighill  that  anyone  to  whom  fortune 
had  flung  so  few  scraps  could  bring  so  brave  a  spirit 

317 


318  THE   LORDS   OF 

to  the  patching  together  of  an  existence.  She  was 
herself  testing  the  reticulated  threads  which  events 
had,  within  a  week,  woven  into  an  inexplicable 
pattern. 

She  wore  her  hat  to  the  breakfast  table  and  watched 
coldly  the  pains  Wayne  took  to  interest  the  girl 
beside  him.  It  was  to  Jean's  credit,  however,  that 
she  seemed  properly  embarrassed  by  Wayne's  inter 
est.  She  turned  often  to  Mrs.  Craighill  and  laughed 
sparingly  at  Wayne's  chaff.  Wayne  was  conscious 
enough  of  Mrs.  Craighill's  displeasure.  A  man  who 
has  played  the  role  of  love's  adventurer  and  is  at 
home  in  the  part,  does  not  expect  to  be  a  hero  to 
two  women  at  the  same  table. 

Wayne  saw  Mrs.  Craighill  off  in  the  motor.  She 
did  not  ask  him  to  accompany  her  or  offer  to  carry 
him  downtown.  He  returned  to  the  table  and 
concluded  his  breakfast.  Jean  rose  at  once  when 
he  had  finished  and  went  into  the  library  where  she 
sought  refuge  in  a  magazine;  he  took  this  as  notice 
that  his  presence  was  not  necessary,  but  after  walking 
back  and  forth  between  the  fire  and  the  windows 
several  times  he  sat  down  near  her. 

"There's  something  I  should  like  to  say  to  you." 

"Well?"  and  she  looked  up  without  closing  the 
magazine. 

"I  never  knew  unti]  last  night  that  you  were  Mr. 
Gregory's  granddaughter." 

He  had  spoken  the  least  bit  tragically  and  she 
smiled. 

'Yes,  he  is  my  grandfather.     I  understand  per- 


HIGH  DECISION  319 

fectly  that  I  shouldn't  be  here,  in  your  father's 
house,  with  my  -grandfather  feeling  as  he  does 
toward  Colonel  Craighill;  and  I'm  sorry  about  it." 

"I'm  sorry,  too  —  sorry  about  that  unpleasant 
business  matter.  I  have  offered  to  settle  your  grand 
father's  claim.  I  should  like  you  to  know  that  I 
acknowledge  the  justice  of  it." 

"But  it's  not  the  point  for  you  to  acknowledge 
it.  It's  only  partly  a  money  matter;  there's  more 
to  it  than  that — at  least,  that's  grandfather's  way 
of  looking  at  it.  Mrs.  Craighill  asked  me  to  stay 
until  she  came  up  from  the  station  and  I  suppose 
I  shall  have  to  see  your  father  this  morning." 

"Yes;  I  imagined  she  had  asked  you.  She  did 
it  out  of  compliment  to  me!" 

The  colour  stole  into  her  face.  She  was  not  so 
dull  but  that  she  saw  why  Mrs.  Craighill  had  kept 
her  at  the  house.  Jean  took  up  her  magazine  and 
began  reading. 

"Please  pardon  me!     I  should  not  have  said  that." 

She  nodded  slightly,  without  looking  up.  Her 
flushed  cheeks  told  him  plainly  enough  that  she  had 
grasped  the  whole  situation  at  Rosedale  and  he  was 
angry  at  himself  for  having  referred  to  it. 

"There  is  nothing  in  the  world  so  important  to  me 
as  your  good  opinion,"  he  said,  standing  before  her. 

She  closed  the  magazine  upon  her  hand  and  looked 
up  at  him. 

"This  isn't  quite  fair  of  you,  is  it?  I  am  in  your 
house,  and  I  can't  very  well  run  away.  Please  let 
us  not  talk  of  you  and  me." 


320  THE   LORDS   OF 

There  was  no  sympathy  in  her  tone;  she  had 
spoken  with  quiet  decision  with  the  obvious  intention 
of  being  rid  of  him. 

"When  I  met  you  at  the  concert  and  walked  to 
my  sister's  that  evening  I  thought  we  were  un- 
standing  each  other.  Has  anything  that  happened 
since  changed  the  situation  as  we  left  it  that  day  ?" 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't!  Please  do  not!  It  is 
very  unfair  and  unkind.  You  know  perfectly  well 
that  I  cannot  discuss  such  a  matter  with  you;  and 
what  difference  does  it  make  one  way  or  another  ?" 

"I  have  no  claim  on  your  mercy.  I  cannot 
explain  anything.  I  want  the  right  to  earn  your  good 
opinion;  that  is  what  I  am  asking." 

"But  why  should  you  be  asking  ?  What  difference 
does  it  make  whether  my  opinion  of  you  is  good  or 
bad  ?  It  is  absurd  the  way  we  meet.  Every  meet 
ing  has  been  a  little  more  unfortunate  than  the  last 
—  if  for  no  other  reason  than  that  it  has  been  another 
one!  It  is  quite  possible  that  I  have  lost  your 
sister's  friendly  interest  by  that  walk  home  from  the 
concert.  You  must  have  seen  that  she  didn't  like 
it;  and  she  was  perfectly  right  not  to  like  it.  Noth 
ing  could  have  been  more  ill-advised  and  foolish 
than  our  going  to  her  house  together." 

"Oh,  if  it's  only  Fanny!  Fanny  understands 
everything  perfectly." 

"That  isn't  very  comforting,  is  it?"  she  asked 
with  the  least  tinge  of  irony.  She  seemed  more 
mature  than  he  had  thought  her  before,  and  she  was 
purposely  making  conversation  difficult.  In  a  few 


HIGH   DECISION  321 

minutes  his  father  and  Mrs.  Craighill  would  return 
and  he  must  make  the  most  of  his  time.  His  tone 
was  lower  as  he  began  again,  on  a  new  tack,  and 
she  listened  with  reluctant  attention. 

"  When  I  met  you  I  was  well  started  to  the  bad 
and  I  had  every  intention  of  keeping  on.  I  was 
going  to  do  a  particular  thing  and  it  was  vile  —  it 
was  the  worst.  Why  is  it  that  you  are  standing  in 
the  way  of  it?  Oh,  I  know  you  don't  understand 
—  if  you  did  you  wouldn't  let  me  speak  to  you;  but 
it's  because  you  dont  understand  —  it's  because 
you  couldn't  understand,  that  it's  so  strange  that  you 
are  blocking  me.  And  not  only  that,  but  here 
you  are  in  this  house  —  this  house  that  was  my 
mother's,  and  you  bring  her  back  to  me  as  you  sit 
there --just  where  she  used  to  sit.  The  sight  of 
you  makes  all  these  later  years  of  my  life  hideous 
to  me:  I  can't  do  the  thing  I  meant  to  —  I  see  how 
foul  it  was;  and  I'm  saying  this  to  you  now  because 
I'm  afraid  of  losing  you  —  I'm  afraid  of  your  going 
away  where  you  can't  help  me  any  more." 

She  had  been  obliged  to  read  much  into  his  strange 
appeal;  it  was  as  though  he  turned  the  leaves  of  a 
book  swiftly,  disclosing  only  half-pages,  with  type 
blurred  and  indecipherable.  She  looked  at  him 
wonderingly;  there  was  a  cry  in  his  last  words  that 
touched  her.  It  had  been  easy  the  day  before  to 
simulate  feeling  in  his  assault  upon  Mrs.  Craighill's 
emotions  at  Rosedale  but  he  had  no  wish  to  deceive 
this  girl.  Her  eyes  forbade  it;  and  it  was  not  so 
long  ago  that  the  sharp  lash  of  her  scorn  had  struck 


THE   LORDS   OF 

him  in  the  face:  "/  don't  care  for  your  acquaintance, 
Mr.  Wayne  Craighill."  She  was  saying  now: 

"I  am  glad  if  I  have  ever  helped  you,  though  I 
don't  in  the  least  understand  how  that  could  be. 
It  is  not  for  me  to  help  anyone.  No  one  who  isn't 
strong  can  help  another;  we  must  be  sure  of  our 
selves  first,  and  I  am  weak  and  I  have  made  sad 
mistakes;  I  have  done  harm  and  caused  heartache. 
And  more  than  that,  we  belong  to  different  worlds, 
you  and  I.  I  have  tried  to  say  this  to  you  before, 
but  we  must  understand  it  now.  Our  meetings 
have  certainly  been  strange,  but  as  I  told  you, 
I'm  not  superstitious.  Very  likely  we  shall  never 
meet  again,  and  you  will  go  on  your  way  just  as 
though  you  never  had  seen  me,  and  I  will  go  about 
my  business  —  and  so  - 

"But  if  you  knew  I  was  going  to  the  bad,  and  you 
could  save  me  and  I  asked  you  to  help,  would  you 
feel  the  same  way  about  it  ?  Maybe  the  answer  is 
that  I'm  not  worth  saving!" 

She  smiled  at  this,  but  his  appeal  touched  her. 
He  was  nearly  ten  years  her  senior,  and  belonged, 
as  she  had  said,  to  an  entirely  different  world,  and 
he  wanted  her  help  and  begged  for  it.  She  felt  his 
charm  and  realized  the  danger  that  lay  in  it,  and 
she  wished  to  be  kind,  but  here  was  a  case  where 
sympathy  must  be  offered  guardedly.  This  inter 
view  was  altogether  too  serious  for  comfort  and 
she  rose,  facing  him  with  an  entire  change  of  manner. 
It  seemed  that  she  was  the  older  now,  the  one  grown 
wise  through  long  familiarity  with  the  world. 


"MEN    WHO    WORK    WITH    THEIR    HANDS  — THESE    THINGS!" 


HIGH   DECISION  323 

"I'm  a  busy  person,  Mr.  Craighill;  I'm  working 
just  as  hard  as  I  can  and  I  hope  to  do  something 
pretty  good  one  of  these  days,  in  spite  of  the  gloomy 
view  I  take  occasionally  of  my  prospects.  Now, 
why  don't  you  go  in  for  something?  Work,  work, 
work!  It's  the  only  way  to  be  happy.  You  haven't 
won  the  right  to  the  leisure  you're  throwing  away. 
It's  cheating  life  to  waste  opportunities  as  you  do. 
I  saved  just  half  a  dollar  a  week  for  two  years  to  get 
a  chance  to  study  drawing;  I  scrubbed  and  washed 
dishes  in  a  hotel  and  ran  a  machine  in  a  garment 
factory.  And  you  may  be  sure  that  if  I  have  to 
do  it  I'll  go  back  to  the  sewing-machine  next  summer 
and  begin  all  over  again  without  the  slightest  grudge 
against  the  world.  I'm  not  going  to  be  a  beggar; 
I  want  to  earn  my  right  to  a  share  in  beautiful  things. 

"Why,  Mr.  Craighill,"  she  continued  with  increas 
ing  vehemence,  "all  the  men  I  have  ever  known 
have  been  labouring  men  —  men  who  work  with 
their  hands  —  these  things!"  In  her  passionate 
earnestness  she  held  out  her  hands  as  though  they 
were  part  of  her  case  for  labour.  "My  father  was 
an  anthracite  miner,  and  he  died  at  work.  I've 
seen  sad  things  in  my  life.  I  had  a  little  brother 
who  was  crushed  to  death  in  a  breaker.  He  was 
oiler  boy,  and  he  was  so  eager  to  get  time  to  play 
at  noon  with  the  other  boys  that  he  crawled  in  to 
do  his  work  before  the  machinery  stopped  and  he 
was  ground  to  pieces  —  fourteen  years  old,  Mr. 
Craighill !  I  can't  get  over  that  —  that  he  was 
a  child  and  he  died  trying  to  win  time  away  from 


324  THE   LORDS   OF 

labour  to  play!  I've  seen  them  bring  bodies  of 
dead  men  out  of  mines  all  my  life  —  my  own  father 
was  killed  by  a  fall  of  slate  —  but  I'd  rather  sweep 
the  streets,  if  I  were  you,  or  dig  ditches,  or  drive 
mules  down  in  the  dark  than  just  be  —  well,  nothing 
in  particular  but  somebody's  son  with  money  to 
spend  —  and  not  the  least  bit  of  sense  about  spend 
ing  it!" 

Wayne  Craighill  had  been  scolded,  and  nagged, 
and  prayed  over  without  effect,  but  this  speech  was 
like  a  challenge;  there  was  a  cry  of  trumpets  in  it. 
And  her  reference  to  the  dead  men  of  the  pit,  and 
the  mordant  scorn  of  her  last  phrases  set  his  blood 
tingling.  He  was  aware  now  that  it  was  a  sweet  and 
precious  thing  to  be  near  her:  no  other  voice  had 
power  to  thrill  like  hers;  no  other  eyes  had  ever 
searched  his  soul  with  so  deep  and  earnest  a 
questioning. 

"  If  I  will  labour  for  you  —  if  I  will  work  with  these 
hands  for  you"  -  he  held  them  out  in  unconscious 
imitation  of  her  own  manner  a  moment  before,  look 
ing  down  at  them  curiously  —  "will  you  take  my 
life,  what  I  can  make  of  it,  and  go  on  to  the  end  with 
me  —  you  and  I  together  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head,  though  with  a  smile  on 
her  lips. 

"No!  That  is  an  impossible  thing.  And  this 
idea  of  my  helping  you  —  I  haven't  the  least  bit  of 
patience  with  that  —  not  the  least.  You  were  born 
free  but  you  have  wasted  your  freedom.  If  once 
you  were  to  labour  with  your  hands  —  to  know  the 


HIGH   DECISION  325 

toil  of  the  men  down  below  —  you  would  see  life 
differently,  and  all  beautiful  things  would  mean  more 
to  you.  You  are  big  and  strong  and  you  can  be  a 
man  if  you  want  to  be.  But  I'm  going  to  do  a 
foolish  thing  —  the  most  foolish  thing  I  could  do, 
I  suppose  —  I'm  going  to  be  friends  with  you  - 
just  as  long  as  you  will  let  it  be  that ;  and  I'm  saying 
this  --I  wonder  if  you  know  why?" 

"You  are  kind,  that  is  all  I  need  to  know/' 
"I'm   not    in   the   least   kind  —  don't   misunder 
stand  me.     But,"  she  smiled  brightly,  confidently, 
t{I  trust  you;  I  believe  in  you;  and  I  like  you.     If 
that  suits  you  I'm  ready  to  begin." 

She  put  out  her  hand  with  a  frank  gesture  and 
her  smile  won  him  to  instant  acquiescence,  though 
there  were  stipulations  he  wished  to  make  as  to  this 
new  relationship.  He  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
motor  bringing  his  father  and  Mrs.  Craighill  from 
the  station  as  it  flashed  past  the  windows  to  the 
carriage  entrance.  The  desire  to  possess,  to  protect, 
to  defend  this  woman  set  his  heart  singing.  She 
did  not  fear  him,  an  evil,  abhorred  castaway,  an 
ugly  wreck  on  the  shoals  of  time;  she  had  spoken 
to  him  rather  as  a  man  might  have  done,  but  his 
response  was  to  the  woman  heart  in  her.  His  hand 
trembled  in  her  clasp,  and  the  wholesomeness,  the 
sweetness,  the  earnestness  of  her  own  nature  kindled 
the  hope  of  life  in  his  heart.  He  felt  a  new  ease, 
as  of  lifted  burdens,  and  a  light  was  round  about 
him ;  and  well  for  this  exalted  moment  that  he  could 
not  see  ahead  into  the  circling  dark. 


326  THE   LORDS   OF   HIGH   DECISION 

"Good-bye,  Jean!"  He  bent  down  and  held 
her  hand  an  instant  to  his  cheek  —  the  hand  that 
had  known  labour! 

"Good-bye,  Wayne  Craighill,"  she  replied, 
soberly. 

A  moment  later  he  left  the  house  by  the  front 
door,  unnoticed  by  his  father  and  Mrs.  Craighill, 
who  at  the  same  moment  appeared  in  the  side  hall. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

COLONEL   CRAIGHILL    IS   ANNOYED 

MRS.  CRAIGHILL  had  seen  her  husband  mani 
fest  anger  on  the  night  of  Wayne's  departure 
for  Philadelphia,  but  she  had  not  until  this  morning 
found  him  crabbed  and  petulant.  A  night  in  a 
sleeping-car  is  not  conducive  to  serenity,  but  a  wife 
has  a  right  to  expect  her  lord  to  bring  a  bright 
countenance  home  from  the  wars.  Colonel  Craighill 
greeted  Jean  with  his  habitual  courtesy,  but  scarcely 
heeded  his  wife's  explanation  of  the  young  woman's 
presence  in  the  house.  He  excused  himself,  going 
to  his  room  to  retouch  his  sleeping-car  toilet,  and 
Jean  went  directly  to  the  Institute.  Mrs.  Craighill 
bade  her  come  often  to  see  her;  but  the  invitation 
lacked  warmth  and  as  Jean  passed  out  of  the  grounds 
through  the  snow-walled  path  she  wondered  much 
about  the  Craighill  household.  But  it  was  not  of 
Mrs.  Craighill  or  the  handsome,  courteous  Colonel 
Craighill  that  she  thought  most,  but  of  Wayne. 

She  walked  through  the  crisp  morning  with  her 
head  high;  for  she  was  a  woman,  and  it  was  sweet 
to  know  that  she  had,  by  his  own  confession,  an 
influence  over  a  man;  that  he  had  asked  her  help 
and  that  she,  denying  this,  had  agreed  upon  a  middle 
ground  on  which  it  might  be  possible  to  meet  and 

327 


328  THE   LORDS   OF 

know  him.  He  was  less  inexplicable  to  her  now. 
Knowledge  of  his  unpleasant  reputation,  gathered 
from  newspapers  and  from  chance  remarks  of  ignor 
ant  gossips,  filled  her  no  longer  with  repugnance. 
She  tried  to  recall,  over  and  over  again  as  she  tramped 
toward  the  Institute,  just  what  she  had  said  to  him 
about  labour,  and  about  her  belief  in  it  as  a  means 
of  grace  for  him;  but  oftener  still  she  remembered 
how  he  had  held  her  hand  against  his  face,  not  kissing 
it,  for  that  would  have  been  too  much,  but  holding  it 
against  his  cheek  —  her  hand  that  had  known  labour ! 
And  thinking  of  this  she  smiled  so  that  passers-by 
turned  to  look  at  the  tall,  dark  girl,  with  her  lifted 
head  and  face  illumined  by  happiness. 

At  the  Craighill  house  happiness  was  not  so  legibly 
written  on  the  two  faces  at  the  breakfast  table. 
Colonel  Craighill  was  clearly  troubled,  and  the 
urbanity  with  which  he  asked  as  to  his  wife's  health 
and  the  state  of  household  affairs  did  not  conceal  the 
vexed  undercurrent  of  his  thoughts. 

"What  has  Wayne  been  doing?"  he  inquired 
with  a  directness  that  for  a  moment  discon 
certed  her. 

"Oh,  he  has  been  in  and  out  about  as  usual.  I 
have  not  seen  much  of  him.  It  was  lonely  in  the 
house  so  I  asked  Miss  Morley  to  stay  with  me. 
She's  an  Art  Institute  student  that  I  met  at  Fanny's. 
Fanny  has  been  called  South,  you  know,  by  the 
illness  of  Mr.  Blair's  mother." 

"Ah!  I'm  very  sorry  to  hear  that.  So  Fanny's 
not  at  home." 


HIGH  DECISION  329 

He  finished  his  breakfast  in  silence  and  then, 
after  a  moment's  deliberation,  began : 

"I'm  obliged,  my  dear  Adelaide,  to  speak  of  a 
very  unpleasant  matter.  Your  mother  persisted 
in  calling  on  me  at  the  Brodericks',  very  greatly 
to  my  annoyance.  I  was  amazed  that  she  should 
be  in  Boston;  I  thought  she  had  gone  abroad." 

She  was  silent,  wishing  him  to  go  on;  she  had 
wondered  just  how  he  would  approach  her  on  this 
subject. 

"I  was  very  greatly  embarrassed,  I  need  hardly 
tell  you,  to  have  her  looking  me  up  in  that  way.  Very 
likely  she  has  written  you  of  her  call.  You  may 
be  sure  that  I  was  as  courteous  as  possible,  but 
her  manner  was  not  just  what  I  should  have  liked 
to  have  my  wife's  mother  manifest  toward  me.  I 
have  rarely  in  my  life  been  so  pained  by  any 
occurrence." 

Some  reply  was  necessary  and  Mrs.  Craighill  was 
prepared. 

"I  don't  quite  understand  the  spirit  that  prompts 
you  to  speak  to  me  of  my  mother  in  this  way.  She 
is  mistress  of  her  own  affairs  and  she  does  not  go 
abroad  or  do  anything  else  merely  to  please  me. 
It  is  necessary  for  me  to  remember  that  she  is 
my  mother,  even  though  you  are  anxious  to 
forget  it." 

"But,  my  dear  Adelaide,  when  the  visit  to  the 
Brodericks'  was  so  important  from  every  stand 
point,  don't  you  see  in  what  a  position  it  placed 
me  to  have  Mrs.  Allen  demanding  at  the  door  to 


THE   LORDS   OF 

see  me?  It  really  spoiled  what  would  otherwise 
have  been  a  very  delightful  visit." 

"It  was  unfortunate,  as  you  say,"  she  replied 
coldly,  though  her  heart  beat  fast  \vith  the  joy  of 
her  opportunity.  "It  was  most  unfortunate  and 
I  deeply  regret  it.  Nothing  could  have  been  sadder 
than  for  you  to  have  been  ashamed  to  take  me  to 
visit  the  great  Brodericks  and  then  to  have  my 
mother  tumbling  in  on  you,  creating,  no  doubt, 
an  embarrassing  encounter  with  the  servant  at  the 
sacred  door." 

"Adelaide!  I  don't  understand  you --you  can't 
be  aware  of  what  you  are  saying!" 

"I  am  quite  aware  of  what  you  have  said.  You 
had  every  expectation  of  taking  me  to  Boston  with 
you.  And  I  had  every  expectation  of  going.  But 
when  the  Brodericks  wrote  and  asked  you  to  their 
house,  wholly  ignoring  me,  you  made  it  very  easy 
for  me  to  stay  at  home.  The  whole  thing  was  as 
plain  as  that  coffee  pot." 

"You  are  most  unjust!  I  didn't  believe  you 
capable  of  harbouring  such  thoughts  of  me." 

"I  had  to  harbour  them  when  they  sailed  so 
boldly  into  port.  It  was  all  perfectly  obvious." 

"You  are  not  only  unfair  to  me,  but  to  the  Broder 
icks  as  well.  They  had  just  returned  after  a  long 
absence  and  the  cards  announcing  our  marriage 
had  failed  to  reach  them." 

"And  you  took  advantage  of  their  ignorance  to 
accept  an  invitation  for  yourself  without  daring  to 
suggest  that  there  was  a  wife  to  consider.  There 


HIGH   DECISION  331 

wasn't  a  wife  to  consider  —  she  didn't  have  to  be 
considered!  --  that's  all  there  is  to  that." 

"I  explained  all  that  to  you  —  that  night  when 
the  letter  came  —  that  I  didn't  know  them  well 
enough  to  suggest  that  they  include  another  guest; 
and  that,  moreover,  I  was  invited  rather  impersonally, 
and  I  thought  that  it  was  to  give  me  a  chance  to 
meet  Senator  Tarleton  and  have  an  opportunity, 
impossible  elsewhere,  to  interest  him  in  our  reform 
work." 

"Well,  did  you  meet  the  Senator?"  she  asked, 
her  arms  folded  on  the  table  and  her  head  bent 
forward  a  trifle.  She  was  amused  to  find  his  anger 
against  her  mother  for  her  invasion  of  the  Broder- 
icks'  diverted  to  herself,  and  she  willingly  accepted 
the  situation.  Her  husband  was  not  used  to  answer 
ing  questions  propounded  in  this  impertinent  fashion, 
and  his  resentment  increased. 

"Yes;  certainly  the  Senator  was  there!"  he 
answered  with  asperity. 

"And  —  Mrs.  Tarleton?"  she  asked  with  an 
inflection  that  did  not  fail  of  its  intention. 

"Well --yes;  she  was  there,  very  greatly  to  my 
astonishment.  But  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  this 
matter  of  my  going  without  you;  the  two  cases  are 
not  comparable." 

;'You  mean,  Roger,  that  the  lady  and  I  are  not 
comparable?" 

"I  mean  nothing  of  the  kind!  Addie,  you  pain 
me  more  than  you  can  know.  I  had  never  expected 
you  would  speak  to  me  in  the  tone  you  are  using." 


332  THE   LORDS   OF 

"  Well,  I  have  spoken  to  you  in  this  tone  because 
I  have  a  right  to  maintain  my  own  dignity  under 
this  attack  you  make  upon  me.  I  married  you 
with  some  idea  that  I  was  to  be  your  wife,  but  it 
seems  that  that  understanding  was  on  my  part  only. 
As  to  my  mother,  just  what  is  it  you  wish  me  to  do 
with  her?" 

He  was  very  angry  now  and  his  voice  rose  from 
its  usual  calm,  assured  tone. 

"I  want  you  to  keep  your  mother  away  from 
here!  She  is  an  impossible  person!  She  threatens 
to  make  you  a  visit,  merely  for  the  purpose  of  annoy 
ing  me  —  to  abuse  me  for  not  having  forced  her 
upon  the  Brodericks." 

"But  you  didn't  force  her  upon  them;  you 
managed  very  cleverly  to  get  rid  of  her  without 
letting  them  know  she  was  your  mother-in-law. 
You  had  asked  her  to  make  a  visit  here  when  you 
thought  she  was  going  abroad  for  an  indefinite  stay, 
but  now  that  she  is  on  the  way  to  your  house  you 
ask  me  most  inhospitably  to  shut  the  door  in  her 
face  —  my  own  mother!" 

"I  ask  you,  after  her  conduct  at  the  Brodericks', 
to  tell  her  she  can  not  come  here,  not  at  this  time! " 

"Yes;  I  see;  it's  to  punish  her  for  not  being 
good." 

"She  asked  me  for  a  loan  of  money;  I  had  hoped 
to  spare  you  that,  but  you  force  me  to  tell  you  in  my 
own  defense." 

"Do  you  know,"  she  replied  with  the  most  delicate 
shading  of  insolence  in  tone  and  manner,  "that 


HIGH  DECISION  333 

I  had  never  understood  before  the  geographical 
difference  between  Boston  and  Pittsburg  ?  It  seems 
that  I  can  be  your  wife  here,  but  that  I  am  not  quite 
equal  to  that  lofty  station  among  the  elite  of  Boston. 
It's  a  little  hard  on  Pittsburg,  isn't  it  ?" 

"You  are  outrageous  —  and  unreasonable!  I  had 
never  understood  that  you  were  so  devoted  to  your 
mother  —  I  had  thought  you  superior  to  her;  and 
now  you  take  a  stand  with  her  as  against  me.  It 
grieves  me  to  be  obliged  to  say  to  my  own  wife  that 
I  am  disappointed  in  her.  Bring  your  mother 
here  if  you  like;  humiliate  me  in  my  house  if  you 
want  to!  I  shall  have  nothing  more  to  say  in  the 
matter." 

He  rose  and  struck  the  table  sharply,  glowering 
down  at  her. 

"If  that  is  quite  all,"  she  said  sweetly,  "I  will 
tell  you  something.  What  you  have  said  to  me 
about  my  mother  is  not  what  I  expected  from  you. 
I  know  her  far  better  than  you  do;  and  now  that 
you  have  discussed  the  matter  so  frankly  on  your 
side  —  how  absurd  that  we  should  have  taken 
sides !  —  I  will  be  frank,  too,  and  tell  you  that  one 
of  the  reasons  for  which  I  married  you  was  to  escape 
from  her.  I  thought,  from  your  showing  of  respect 
and  affection  for  me,  that  I  should  find  in  Colonel 
Craighill  a  champion  and  a  friend  if  not  quite  the 
ideal  lover.  And  now  at  the  first  sign  of  trouble, 
at  the  first  opportunity  you  had  to  prove  my  con 
fidence  and  faith,  you  not  only  threw  me  aside  to 
avoid  showing  me  to  your  critical  acquaintances, 


334  THE   LORDS   OF  HIGH   DECISION 

but  you  would  wound  me  by  flinging  at  me  my 
mother  —  my  mother  who  has  never  been  anything 
but  hateful  to  me  —  who  would  have  made  traffic 
of  me  and  sunk  me  low  for  her  own  ends." 

The  last  words  came  from  her  slowly;  tears  were 
in  her  eyes  as  she  rose  to  her  full  height  and  faced 
him. 

"And  now,"  she  ended,  "I  will  say  to  you  that 
my  mother  will  not  trouble  you;  that  she  will  not" 
and  Walsh's  words  came  back  to  her  and  she  felt 
secure   and   comforted   as   she   remembered   him  - 
"she  will  not  now,  or  at    any   other   time,   honour 
this  house  with  her  presence." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

COLONEL   CRAIGHILL   SCORES   A    POINT 

COLONEL  CRAIGHILL  reached  his  office  in 
\~S  anything  but  an  amiable  state  of  mind.  As 
he  disappeared  into  his  own  room  and  closed  the 
door  the  chief  book-keeper  exchanged  a  wink  with 
the  prettiest  stenographer,  and  the  messenger 
turned  up  the  collar  of  his  coat  to  signify  falling 
temperature. 

At  his  own  desk  Colonel  Craighill  scanned  the  sum 
marized  reports  that  were  so  sufficient  to  his  execu 
tive  sense,  but  this  inspection  gave  him  no  pleasure; 
and  his  personal  mail  disclosed  matters  that  did 
not  please  him.  And  against  all  precedents  the 
cashier  entered  unbidden,  bearing  memoranda  that 
deepened  the  annoyance  that  Colonel  Craighill  had 
carried  to  the  office.  And,  crowning  irritation,  the 
president  of  the  Hercules  National  Bank,  in  which 
he  was  a  director,  and  the  cashier  of  the  Greater 
City  Trust  Company  called  him  by  telephone  and 
begged  his  early  attendance  at  their  offices. 

In  his  perturbation  Colonel  Craighill  narrowly 
escaped  referring  his  own  cashier  to  Walsh;  and 
the  fact  that  Walsh  would,  just  at  this  moment, 
have  been  a  substantial  reed  to  lean  upon  did  not 
ease  Colonel  Craighill's  burdens.  "Ask  Walsh," 

335 


336  THE   LORDS   OF 

had  been,  in  old  times,  before  the  Wayne-Craighill 
Mercantile  Company  passed  into  Walsh's  hands, 
the  commonest  phrase  of  the  office;  and  Walsh's 
successor  could  not,  in  the  nature  of  things,  know 
the  inner  history  of  the  many  Craighill  interests  as 
Tom  Walsh  had.  Several  times  within  the  past 
month,  "Ask  WTayne"  had  been  heard  in  the  outer 
offices;  and  this  was  not  more  remarkable  than 
that,  when  the  appeal  had  been  made,  it  was  found 
that  WTayne  knew! 

Wayne  was  busy  at  his  desk  when  his  father  entered 
and  closed  the  door  behind  him.  He  had  been 
checking  an  estimate  of  his  father's  liabilities  and 
he  knew  that  Roger  Craighill  owed  a  large  sum  of 
money  —  a  very  large  sum  indeed  —  and  in  Decem 
ber  the  fog  of  the  October  scare  still  lay  upon 
the  land. 

:' Wayne,  I  want  to  see  you  for  a  few  minutes," 
and  Wayne  started  guiltily  at  the  sound  of  his  father's 
voice  and  thrust  his  memorandum  out  of  sight  in 
a  drawer. 

'  You  may  not  be  aware,"  began  Colonel  Craighill, 
"that  the  general  financial  conditions  are  serious." 

W7ayne's  resentment  rose  on  the  instant,  as  always 
at  these  implications  that  he  was  unacquainted  with 
the  affairs  of  the  business  world.  A  sharp  retort 
was  on  his  lips;  the  morning  papers  had  contained 
the  latest  of  his  father's  reassuring  statements  as 
to  the  brightening  outlook,  but  he  answered: 

"Well,  it's  been  on  for  some  time,  hasn't  it?  I 
thought  everybody  began  to  get  to  cover  last  spring." 


HIGH   DECISION  337 

"Things  tightened  up  in  the  fall  but  I  had  expected 
the  trouble  to  be  over  by  this  time,  but  the  pinch 
has  grown  sharper  than  I  expected.  The  conditions 
are  very  unusual  but  they  ought  to  adjust  them 
selves.  My  anticipations  have  all  been  correct, 
though  our  financial  mechanism  is  still  slightly  out 
of  adjustment  in  vital  quarters.  My  own  affairs  are, 
of  course,  subject  to  general  laws  like  every  one 
else's." 

Luck  is  a  goddess  in  all  our  mythologies,  but  we 
credit  our  own  wisdom  when  affairs  prosper.  Mis 
takes,  when  we  assume  blame  for  them  at  all,  are 
at  the  most  mere  sinistral  inadvertences:  heavier 
losses  we  charge  to  the  blindfold  goddess  and  her 
dice-box. 

Wayne  knew  that  his  father  had  not  come  into 
his  room  to  philosophize,  and  he  groped  for  light 
as  to  the  real  object  of  the  interview.  Colonel 
Craighill  took  a  lead  pencil  from  Wayne's  desk  and 
played  with  it  nervously.  Wayne  was  struck  by 
the  fact  that  his  father  did  not  look  well  to-day; 
his  fine  colour  was  lacking  and  there  were  dark 
lines  under  his  eyes. 

"You'd  never  know  from  the  newspapers  that 
there's  anything  wrong.  I  thought  your  interview 
in  Boston  that  our  papers  copied  this  morning  was 
quite  conclusive." 

Colonel  Craighill  glanced  at  his  son  quickly. 
Wayne's  tone  was  perfectly  respectful  and  he  met 
his  father's  eyes  steadily.  Colonel  Craighill  shrugged 
his  shoulders  impatiently. 


338  THE   LORDS   OF 

:<We  must  do  what  we  can  to  tranquillize  the 
public  mind.  I  was  asked  to  say  something  in  the 
press  occasionally  by  a  number  of  our  strongest 
men.  They  seemed  to  think  I  was  the  best  person 
to  do  it";  and  his  eyes  brightened  for  a  moment 
at  the  consciousness  that  he  had  been  chosen  as 
sponsor  for  the  city's  business  interests. 

"I  have  found  it  necessary  to  increase  my  collateral 
in  several  places.  I  don't  quite  like  being  required 
to  do  it;  the  demand  comes  just  at  the  wrong  time 
for  some  of  my  investments.  You  have  some 
stock,  haven't  you,  in  the  Mexican  Plantations 
Company?" 

Wayne's  heart  gave  a  big  throb  and  he  smiled. 

"Oh,  no;    I  haven't  a  share — not  one." 

"But  I  thought " 

"Oh,  I  did  have  several  hundred  shares,  but  I 
cleaned  them  out  last  fall.  A  friend  of  mine,  a 
'Tech'  man,  who's  a  mining  engineer  in  Mexico, 
was  in  town  one  day,  and  I  asked  him  about  that 
scheme  and  he  didn't  give  me  very  flattering  reports 
of  it.  So  I  sold  out  the  first  chance  I  got." 

"Do  you  mind  telling  me  who  bought  it?" 

Wayne's  heart  was  beating  rapidly.  The  moment 
for  which  he  had  longed  had  arrived.  He  wished 
to  play  with  it,  to  delay  the  complete  realization  of 
the  joy  now  within  reach. 

"Well,  I  had  reason  to  think  afterward  that  you 
had  bought  it  yourself.  There  was  one  block  of  a 
hundred  shares  that  I  sold  through  those  Boston 
brokers  who  handle  that  sort  of  thing,  and  I  noticed 


HIGH  DECISION  339 

afterward  that  you  were  credited  with  that  number 
of  additional  shares  on  the  office  books." 

'You  might  have  spoken  to  me  before  selling 
when  it  was  at  my  suggestion  you  went  in.  It  strikes 
me  that  your  selling  in  that  way  was  a  reflection  on 
my  judgment  in  recommending  it.  Your  conduct 
was  not  filial." 

"You  can  hardly  construe  it  that  way.  You 
recommended  it  in  good  faith;  and  I  saw  no 
reason  for  disturbing  your  confidence  in  the 
company  simply  because  I  had  a  hint  that  the 
greasers  down  there  hadn't  made  the  vanilla  beans 
grow." 

"Walsh  was  perfectly  satisfied  with  it;  he  went  in 
when  I  did.  In  fact,  he  asked  me  to  let  him  go  in." 

'Yes;  I  remember,"  said  Wayne.  "Tom  went 
in  all  right." 

Colonel  Craighill  moved  restlessly  in  his  chair; 
his  anger  was  mounting;  it  showed  itself  in  his 
deepening  pallor  and  in  the  trembling  of  his  hands 
and  lips.  Ordinarily  he  would  not  have  asked 
Wayne  whether  Walsh  had  sold  his  shares  in  the 
Plantations,  but  the  question  now  escaped  him, 
and  after  he  had  asked  it  his  wrath  increased  as 
Wayne  smiled  a  little  in  replying. 

"I'm  not  very  well  acquainted  with  Walsh's  affairs, 
but  it's  my  impression  that  Tom  let  go,  too.  The 
shares  took  a  boost  right  after  we  bought,  you  may 
remember,  and  Tom  promptly  sold  out.  I'm  sorry 
if  it  doesn't  look  as  well  as  it  did,"  remarked  Wayne, 
who  knew  that  the  engineering  company  which  had 


340  THE   LORDS   OF 

been  installing  an  irrigation  plant  for  the  Plantations 
had  suspended  operations  owing  to  the  financial 
stringency. 

"Walsh  is  under  no  obligations  to  me;  he  was 
merely  a  useful  clerk  in  the  office;  but  I  don't 
understand  this  withholding  of  confidence  in  my 
own  son.  I  don't  like  it.  I  have  been  aware  for 
some  time  that  you  were  not  dealing  frankly  with 
me,  that  your  life  was  apart  from  mine;  but  this 
sort  of  trickery  is  going  too  far." 

"I  don't  see  where  the  trickery  comes  in.  A  lot 
of  your  friends  were  in  the  thing.  They've  been 
going  down  to  Mexico  in  private  cars  to  admire  the 
prospects.  I  sold  out  because  I  wanted  to  do  some 
thing  else  with  my  money.  I  didn't  know  I  had 
to  apologize  for  selling  my  shares.  It  would  only 
have  annoyed  you  if  I  had  told  you  I  was  going  out. 
And  you  speak  of  my  lack  of  frankness  in  dealing 
with  you.  I  suppose  you  don't  realize  that  I  have 
been  a  little  less  than  the  office  boy  here  practically 
since  I  left  school.  You've  never  seen  fit  to  take 
me  into  your  confidence;  I've  been  worse  than  an  out 
sider,  and  I'll  tell  you  now  that  I've  resented  it.  You 
don't  have  to  tell  me  that  I've  been  a  disgrace  to 
your  name;  I  know  that.  I'm  a  rotten  bad  lot; 
there's  no  getting  away  from  it;  you  can't  say 
half  as  mean  things  of  me  as  I  can  say  of  myself. 
You've  assumed  that  I  didn't  know  that  the  papers 
you  sent  into  me  from  day  to  day  were  not  of  the 
slightest  importance  —  chaff  for  the  waste-paper 
basket;  but  I've  known  it.  I've  known  that  it 


HIGH   DECISION  341 

was  all  a  good  joke,  my  being  here  at  all.  Every 
body  knows  I've  made  a  beast  of  myself  getting 
drunk,  but  I  suppose  you  thought  it  naturally 
followed  that  I'm  a  fool,  too." 

He  realized  at  once  that  the  shot  had  been  badly 
fired,  and  that  he  had  thrown  away  ammunition 
which  at  a  fitter  season  might  have  satisfied  his 
thirst  for  vengeance;  but  Colonel  Craighill  had 
grown  calm  under  his  son's  outburst.  He  had  a 
reputation  for  tactful  negotiation.  There  was  some 
thing  that  he  wished  to  get  from  his  son,  and  while 
the  temptation  to  inveigh  against  Wayne's  unfilial 
conduct  in  disposing  of  the  Mexican  securities 
without  notice  was  strong,  Colonel  Craighill  waited 
a  moment  to  mark  a  change  of  subject  and  when 
he  spoke  his  tone  was  amiable. 

"I'm  sorry  you  have  so  much  feeling  about  the 
matter.  I'm  a  little  surprised,  that's  all,  that  you 
should  have  left  the  Mexican  venture  without  telling 
me;  but  it's  not  of  the  slightest  consequence.  But 
while  we're  speaking  of  such  things  —  your  holdings 
in  companies  that  I'm  connected  with  —  I  just 
heard  that  you've  acquired  the  forty  shares  of  Sand 
Creek  stock  that  were  owned  by  the  Moore  estate. 
Is  that  correct?" 

"Yes;  I  have  them,"  and  Wayne's  anger  burned 
hot  again  as  he  remembered  the  spirit  in  which 
he  had  acquired  the  shares  and  the  chiding  he  had 
received  from  his  father  for  overdrawing  his  account 
to  buy  them. 

"I'm  going  to  ask  you,  as  a  special  favour,  to 


342  THE   LORDS   OF 

let  me  buy  them  of  you,  Wayne,"  Colonel  Craighill 
went  on  calmly.  He  laughed  lightly  to  minimize 
the  importance  of  the  favour  he  asked.  He  knew 
perfectly  how  to  manage  such  things,  for  whatever 
he  lacked  in  other  particulars  Colonel  Craighill  was 
skilled  in  the  arts  of  business  diplomacy.  He 
created  an  atmosphere  of  amity,  and  Wayne  was 
angry  because  he  felt  the  spell  of  it.  Colonel  Craig- 
hill  continued  as  though  he  were  in  the  daily  habit 
of  exchanging  courtesies  Avith  his  son,  to  emphasize 
more  and  more  the  fact  that  this  was  a  favour  he 
asked.  Wayne  knew  that  he  had  blundered.  If 
his  father  asked  for  the  Sand  Creek  shares  in  this 
spirit  he  could  only  save  his  own  dignity  by  relin 
quishing  them. 

;' You  see  the  Hercules  National  people  helped  me 
finance  the  Sand  Creek  deal,  and  they  got  their  friends 
interested.  Moore  was  one  of  our  friends  and  it 
was  assumed,  of  course,  that  we'd  get  those  shares 
from  his  estate.  I'll  go  a  bit  further  with  you, 
Wayne.  The  Hercules  is  carrying  my  paper  for 
a  large  amount  and  they  were  very  decent  in  October 
when  the  pinch  came;  and  until  I  can  make  a  turn 
or  two  in  other  directions  I'm  not  in  a  position  to 
displease  them.  I  should  take  it  as  a  great  favour 
if  you  would  let  me  have  those  shares  —  at  your 
own  price." 

Colonel  Craighill  smiled  into  his  son's  eyes. 

"Certainly,  father,  you  shall  have  them  at  the 
price  I  paid.  I'll  get  them  from  the  vault  immedi 
ately." 


HIGH  DECISION  343 

A  few  minutes  later  he  closed  his  desk  with  a 
slam  and  prepared  to  leave.  He  had  weakly  yielded 
to  his  father's  easy,  conciliatory  speech  and  the 
thought  of  his  supineness  sharpened  his  hatred  of 
his  father  to  its  keenest  edge;  but  the  blade  in  his 
hand  was  an  incompetent,  worthless  thing.  He 
was  as  weak  as  Hamlet  before  the  gates  of  oppor 
tunity.  He  was  out  of  patience  with  himself;  he 
had  boasted  a  moment  before  that  he  was  no  fool, 
but  without  turning  a  hand  his  father  had  tamed 
him  to  do  his  bidding.  He  felt  depression  seizing 
him;  the  fierce  thirst  cried  in  his  blood,  and  there 
was  only  one  cure  for  that. 

The  telephone  tinkled  and  he  snatched  the  receiver 
impatiently.  Paddock  spoke  to  him  from  the  parish 
house  at  Ironstead.  Joe  Denny,  the  chauffeur, 
was  there,  very  ill,  and  had  asked  for  Wayne.  The 
current  of  his  thought  immediately  changed;  he 
had  utterly  forgotten  Joe,  and  he  at  once  took  the 
trolley  for  Ironstead. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

"I'M    GOING    BACK   TO   JOE" 

HE'S  in  a  bad  way  with  pneumonia,"  Paddock 
explained  as  he  met  Wayne  at  the  door.  "  He 
crept  in  here  this  morning  before  daylight  with 
a  high  fever  and  I  put  him  to  bed  and  got  a 
nurse  for  him.  He's  been  out  of  his  head  this 
afternoon  and  he  has  asked  for  you  repeatedly. 
It  is  kind  of  you  to  come.  Miss  Morley  came  to 
help  with  the  cooking  class  and  she's  with  him  now, 
to  relieve  the  nurse  for  an  hour.  Will  you  come  up  ?  " 

Joe  lay  on  Paddock's  own  bed.  The  room  was 
darkened  and  out  of  the  shadows  Jean  rose  to  meet 
them. 

"He's  asleep  now,  but  he  has  been  asking  for  you. 
He  said  he  had  something  he  wanted  to  say  to  you." 

"I  will  wait,"  said  Wayne. 

He  talked  with  Paddock  a  few  minutes  in  the 
hall;  there  was  little  question  of  Joe's  recovery, 
Paddock  said,  but  both  lungs  were  affected  and 
his  temperature  soared  high.  There  were  many 
sick  in  the  town,  and  many  unemployed  required 
help.  Paddock's  smile  had  never  been  so  sad 
but  he  wore  the  air  of  a  man  of  affairs  and  the  joy 
of  his  work  was  in  his  dark,  homely  face. 

"Make   yourself   at   home.     If   you   can   stay   a 

344 


THE  LORDS   OF  HIGH  DECISION  345 

little  while  it  would   please   the  boy,  if  he  should 
know  you." 

The  sick  man's  harsh  breathing  alone  disturbed 
the  quiet  of  the  room.  Wayne  sat  near  the  door, 
and  it  was  some  time  before  the  figure  on  the  bed 
and  Jean's  outline  beyond,  her  hand  resting  lightly 
on  the  sick  man's  wrist,  became  clear  to  him.  The 
ticking  of  a  watch  on  the  table  at  Jean's  side  reached 
Wayne  fitfully;  and  once  when  she  bent  down  to 
see  the  time  her  head  was  caught  in  the  lamp's 
glow,  and  the  purity  of  her  profile  and  her  sweet, 
womanly  solicitude  touched  him.  He  thought  of 
her  rather  than  of  the  stricken  man  who  lay  between 
them. 

Not  since  those  dark  days  long  ago  when  his 
mother  lay  ill  in  her  familiar  chamber  had  he 
looked  upon  sickness.  He  recalled  those  days 
now  —  the  shielded  lamp,  the  gloom,  the  silence, 
the  waiting.  And  then  he  recurred  to  his  interview 
with  Joe  in  the  garage,  That  had  been  a  day  of 
events,  surely!  And  much  had  happened  since. 
He  experienced  a  pang  of  guilt  at  his  neglect  of  Joe, 
who  had  made  the  long  and  toilsome  journey  to 
Ironstead  to  find  refuge  with  Paddock.  Life,  clearly, 
was  a  mixed  business,  an  ill-rehearsed  play,  where 
no  one  knew  his  lines  and  where  the  exits  and 
entrances  were  all  haphazard. 

The  sick  man  stirred  and  tossed  restlessly.  Jean 
was  at  once  alert,  bending  over  him  anxiously. 
Abruptly  he  began  to  speak,  the  words  harsh  and 
indistinct,  breaking  from  him  in  little  moans;  but 


346  THE   LORDS   OF 

the   sense   of  what   he    said    as    Wayne    caught    it 
was  this: 

"He  can't  have  you,  Jean.  He's  my  friend,  but 
he  can't  take  you  away  from  me.  .  .  .  He  saw 
your  picture  in  my  room,  but  he  doesn't  know 
about  us.  .  .  .  Don't  you  be  scared;  I'm  not 
goin'  to  hurt  you.  I  won't  follow  you  any 
more.  ...  I  want  to  go  back  to  the  hills  where 
we  came  from,  Jean.  I  want  to  see  Golden 
Bridge  and  the  place  where  we  played  when  we 
were  kids.  I  want  to  see  the  men  with  black 
faces  comin'  out  of  the  ground.  .  .  .  He's  the 
best  friend  I  ever  had  but  he  can't  have  you.  .  . 
You  go  on  and  draw  pictures  of  the  breaker  boys 
and  the  dirty  Dago  babies.  I'll  keep  away  from 
you.  .  .  .  Don't  you  call  strikes  on  me,  Mr. 
Umpire!  I  tell  you  my  left  arm's  all  right.  I'm 
pitchin'  the  game  of  my  life;  over  the  plate,  every 
one  of  'em.  All  right,  give  him  his  base:  you're 
rotten,  you're  rotten,  I  say." 

His  voice  died  hoarsely  in  his  throat  and  the  room 
seemed  quieter  than  ever  as  he  ceased.  The  tick 
ing  of  the  watch  rose  and  fell;  Jean  was  a  shadow, 
silent  and  vague  as  shadows  are.  Wayne  had  risen 
when  Joe  began  to  speak,  looking  down  upon  Jean 
as  she  knelt  clasping  the  sick  man's  hands.  The 
nurse  came  softly  in  and  heard  Jean's  report  of 
the  hour. 

"I  will  come  again  in  the  morning — or  I  will 
stay  now,"  said  Jean. 

"No;   you  can  do  nothing  to-night.     But  to-mor- 


HIGH   DECISION  347 

row  at  the  same  hour  I  should  be  glad  to  have  you 


come  again. 


"I  shall  be  here,"  said  Jean. 

"He  will  be  better;  he  will  get  well,"  the  nurse 
whispered,  anticipating  her  question.  "He  is  very 
strong  and  I've  seen  many  worse  cases  recover." 

"He  didn't  know  me,"  said  Wayne,  when  he  was 
alone  with  Jean  in  the  hall. 

"No  —  but  he  will  be  glad  when  they  tell  him 
afterward,"  she  replied,  and  he  saw  that  she  had 
been  crying. 

"If  you  are  going  into  town  you  will  let  me  go 
with  you  —  please  ?  " 

;'Yes;  I'm  going  at  once,"  she  answered  indif 
ferently. 

Below  they  found  Paddock  engaged  in  placing 
cots  in  the  assembly  room. 

"Boarding  house  burned  down  and  I'm  going 
to  take  in  a  few  of  the  boys.  You  might  lend  a 
hand  on  these  chairs,  Craighill — pile  'em  in  the 
corner  —  good!  And  you,  Miss  Morley,  if  you'll 
show  me  what  to  do  with  these  blankets,  we'll  soon 
have  a  grand  dormitory." 

Cots  and  bedding  had  been  brought  out  from 
town  and  these  were  opened  and  distributed ;  Wayne, 
glad  to  be  doing  something,  did  the  heaviest  lifting. 
Jean,  moving  about  silently,  unfolded  and  placed 
the  blankets.  Some  of  the  men  to  be  sheltered 
were  already  coming  in,  receiving  Paddock's  cordial 
greeting  as  they  appeared  at  the  door. 

"That    will    do    beautifully,"    beamed    Paddock, 


348  THE   LORDS   OF 

surveying  the  lines  of  cots  with  satisfaction.  "  Thank 
you  very  much.  Joe  will  be  all  right.  He's  as  hard 
as  nails  and  a  mere  congestion  of  the  lungs  can't 
hurt  him  particularly.  Good  of  you  to  come, 
Craighill.  Sorry  I  can't  give  you  both  something 
to  eat,  but  we  had  a  fine  line  of  hungry  fellows 
to-day  and  they  cleaned  me  out." 

The  minister  stepped  into  the  crisp  white  night 
for  his  last  words  with  them.  He  was  not  a  deep 
searcher  of  souls,  but  this  man  and  woman  puzzled 
and  interested  him  greatly.  He  noted  their  fine 
height,  their  vigorous,  free  walk;  and  knowing  much 
of  both  their  lives  he  was  moved  to  pity  for  them. 

On  the  long  journey  into  the  city  they  spoke  little. 
Jean  was  preoccupied  and  Wayne  was  glad  to  be 
silent.  What  had  Joe  and  Jean  been  to  each  other  ? 
Whatever  the  relationship  it  had  meant  much  to 
the  young  man,  as  proved  by  his  incoherent  murmur- 
ings.  Jean  and  Wayne  had  the  car  to  themselves 
much  of  the  time,  but  she  did  not  speak  except 
to  answer  his  occasional  questions. 

"It  is  late;  you  will  miss  your  dinner.  If  you 
will  go  to  the  house  I  can  telephone  Mrs.  Craighill 
to  have  supper  ready  for  you." 

"Oh,  no;  they  will  give  me  something  at  the 
boarding  house.  My  grandfather  is  there  and  he 
will  be  troubled  if  I  don't  come." 

"Mr.  Gregory  is  here  again?" 

"He  comes  and  goes.  I  think  I  ought  to  tell 
you  that  he  is  preparing  to  press  his  claim  against 
Colonel  Craighill  in  that  Sand  Creek  matter.  I 


HIGH   DECISION  349 

have  urged  him  not  to,  but  he  is  old  and  ill  and 
I  sometimes  think  his  mind  is  unsettled.  I  ought 
to  take  him  away.  As  long  as  I'm  here  he  has  an 
excuse  for  coming.  I  ought  to  give  up  my  work,  and 
take  him  back  home  —  to  our  own  home  at  Denbeigh." 

"It's  an  unfortunate  matter  —  the  whole  business. 
My  father's  interest  in  the  Sand  Creek  Company 
is  very  small.  He  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  manage 
ment  of  the  company." 

"That's  where  the  trouble  comes  in.  It's  not 
the  business  side  of  it  any  more;  it's  the  feeling 
grandfather  has  that  it  was  a  personal  matter  be 
tween  him  and  your  father.  He  insists  on  looking 
at  it  that  way." 

"I  think  there's  a  real  claim.  I  will  see  what 
I  can  do  with  the  officers  of  the  company.  It  will 
be  no  trouble  whatever,"  he  said,  roused  at  the 
prospect  of  serving  her. 

"Please  do  not!  I  don't  think  that  would  satisfy 
grandfather  at  all.  He  wants  the  offer  of  a  settle 
ment  to  come  from  Colonel  Craighill.  I  appreciate 
your  kind  feeling  about  it,  but  please  do  nothing; 
it  would  not  help." 

A  Russian  woman  with  a  shawl  wrapped  round 
her  head  entered  the  car  dragging  a  child  of  three 
by  the  hand.  The  little  boy,  planted  on  a  seat 
directly  opposite  Jean,  fixed  his  great,  wondering 
eyes  upon  her. 

"The  poor  little  dear,"  she  murmured;  "I've 
been  wanting  just  that  type,  but  now  it  doesn't 
seem  quite  fair  to  try  to  catch  him." 


350  THE   LORDS   OF 

She  drew  from  the  pocket  of  her  long  coat  a  small 
memorandum  book  and  a  lead-pencil  stub  and  began 
sketching.  The  mother  stared  and  frowned,  not 
quite  understanding,  but  Jean  was  all  intent  on  the 
white,  wistful  face  opposite,  and  Wayne,  watching 
her,  marked  her  earnestness,  her  complete  absorp 
tion.  She  had  snatched  off  her  gloves  in  her  haste 
and  he  picked  them  up  and  unconsciously  smoothed 
them  as  he  watched  her  hand  fly  over  the  paper. 
The  lurching  car  did  not  trouble  her;  she  finished 
one  sketch  and  began  another,  tearing  the  first 
sheet  from  the  pad  and  thrusting  it  into  her  pocket. 
Finally,  she  held  this  second  attempt  up  and  inspected 
it,  turning  it  so  that  Wayne  might  see.  It  was 
his  first  glimpse  of  any  of  her  work  and  he  was  amazed 
at  her  cleverness;  her  few  bold  strokes  had  brought 
the  sad  little  face  to  paper;  the  folded  baby  hands 
were  there,  with  pathos  in  their  tiny  clasp.  Jean 
thrust  it  away  in  her  coat  and  crossed  the  aisle  to 
speak  to  the  mother,  who  supplemented  her  scant  Eng 
lish  with  smiles  of  appreciation  as  the  stranger  praised 
her  child.  A  little  later  as  the  mother  left  the  car 
Wayne  dropped  a  silver  dollar  into  the  baby's  hand. 

;<  You  must  always  pay  a  model  for  sitting.  What 
are  you  going  to  do  with  the  sketch?" 

"Oh,  I  have  use  for  it.  Maybe  you  will  see  it 
again  some  day." 

They  transferred  to  another  line  to  complete  the 
journey  to  Jean's  boarding  house.  Wayne  had 
expected  to  leave  her  at  the  door.  He  was  surprised 
when  she  asked  him  in. 


HIGH   DECISION  351 

"I  would  like  to  see  you  a  moment,  Mr.  Craighill, 
if  you  can  wait." 

She  turned  up  the  gas  in  a  dingy  parlour  whose 
shabby  upholstery  retained  the  vague  conglomerate 
odours  of  boiled  vegetables.  The  place  was  hot 
and  he  threw  open  his  coat  but  she  did  not  ask  him 
to  sit  down.  She  closed  the  door  and  stood  beside 
it,  as  though  to  emphasize  the  brevity  of  the  interview. 

"I  must  tell  you  something  —  something  you  have 
a  right  to  know.  I  ought  to  have  told  you  at  your 
house  the  other  morning,  but  I  could  not  do  it  then. 
It  pleased  me  —  I  may  as  well  tell  you  that ;  it  can 
make  no  difference  now  —  I  was  pleased  that  you 
wanted  my  friendship,  that  you  asked  me  to  help 
you.  It  flattered  me,  I  suppose,  but  I  knew  at 
once  that  it  was  all  wrong.  I  had  known  from  the 
first  time  you  spoke  to  me  and  even  after  we  met 
again  at  the  parish  house,  that  we  must  not  know 
each  other.  It  was  all  wrong,  very  wrong.  And 
to-day  you  heard  what  Joe  said.  He  was  delirious 
and  didn't  even  know  who  we  were;  but  what  he 
said  about  me  had  a  meaning.  We  were  born  in 
the  same  town  —  up  there  at  Denbeigh.  His  father 
and  mine  both  worked  in  the  anthracite  mines; 
we  went  to  school  together',  I  went  to  the  high 
school,  but  Joe  had  to  stop  and  go  to  work.  When 
I  was  eighteen  we  ran  off  and  were  married  by  a 
minister  in  Scranton.  I  think  he  really  loved  me 
and  I  was  fond  of  him,  but  I  had  been  better  edu 
cated  than  Joe.  He  was  a  miner,  but  had  quit 
that  to  play  baseball.  He  was  a  good  player,  they 


352  THE   LORDS   OF 

said,  and  could  make  more  money  travelling  about 
than  by  working  in  the  mines.  But  it  was  a  mistake, 
our  marrying,  and  I  saw  at  once  that  it  wouldn't  do. 
After  three  months  I  wrote  to  him  while  he  was 
away  that  I  would  not  live  with  him  —  that  it  was 
all  ended.  My  grandfather  got  a  divorce  for  me  - 
I  know  now  that  was  wrong,  too.  Joe  did  nothing 
to  prevent  it;  but  after  I  came  to  Pittsburg  last 
fall  I  began  meeting  him,  and  he  would  follow  me 
sometimes.  He  had  taken  it  hard,  poor  Joe!  And 
I  was  anxious  to  go  on  with  my  studies  —  that 
was  the  real  trouble;  and  Joe  didn't  know  or  care 
about  those  things.  He  used  to  laugh  at  my  pictures 
and  say  they  were  very  pretty;  but  he  was  never 
unkind  to  me.  He  was  a  good  boy  —  a  clean, 
upright  boy;  and  I  brushed  him  out  of  my  life  as 
you  would  sweep  dust  out  of  a  room.  It  was  not 
right  —  it  was  not  right  —  it  was  not  right!'* 

She  stood  rigidly  against  the  wall,  her  plain,  long 
coat  thrown  open  and  disclosing  her  simplest  and 
cheapest  of  gowns.  When  she  had  spoken  to  him 
in  his  father's  library  of  the  nobility  of  labour  it  had 
been  with  an  exultance  that  thrilled  him;  she  had 
told  him  this  pitiful  little  story  in  hurried  whispers, 
dry-eyed  but  with  uplifted  head. 

"I  am  glad  you  told  me;  but  you  are  taking  it 
hard  now  because  Joe  is  so  ill.  You  have  no  right 
to  accuse  yourself;  you  and  Joe  are  wholly  different; 
your  marriage  was  a  boy-and-girl  affair  and  utterly 
unfit.  The  law  has  freed  you,  as  it  should  free 
people  who  make  such  mistakes.  You  have  the 


HIGH   DECISION  353 

ambition  and  ability  to  do  something  in  the  world. 
Joe  is  a  good  boy  but  he  could  never  tiptoe  up  to 
you.  You  did  only  the  right  thing,"  Wayne  ran 
on  glibly.  'Your  life  is  your  own  to  do  with  as 
you  like:  you  would  have  no  right  to  throw  it  away 
or  waste  it." 

The  unreality  of  a  situation  in  which  he  was 
weighing  right  and  wrong  for  another  was  not  lost 
on  him;  and  he  was  fully  conscious  that  his  words 
made  no  impression  on  her.  She  was  intent  with 
her  own  thoughts  and  her  eyes  rested  upon  him 
unseeingly.  She  had  hinted  before  at  reasons  why 
they  should  not  know  each  other,  but  he  had  assumed 
that  these  were  chiefly  his  own  reputation  and  the 
divergent  paths  to  which  they  were  born.  But  he 
knew  now  that  she  was  a  divorced  woman;  she  had 
been  the  wife  of  a  coal  miner,  a  ball  player,  his 
own  servant.  These  facts  swept  in  review  before 
him  and  he  met  them  with  full  gaze,  giving  full 
value  to  every  point.  She  was  young,  and  they 
exercised  on  each  other  an  attraction  with  which 
it  might  be  possible  to  trifle ;  and  yet  no  evil  thought 
came  into  his  heart.  She  had  opened  the  slender 
book  of  her  life  to  its  marred  page;  her  life,  like 
his,  had  failed  at  the  start;  but  into  this  knowledge 
he  read  a  new  kinship  between  them. 

He  attempted  to  reason  her  out  of  her  position 
and  failed. 

"It  was  wrong;   it  was  a  great  sin,"  she  persisted. 

Suddenly  he  stood  at  her  side  and  seized  her 
hands. 


354  THE   LORDS   OF  HIGH   DECISION 

"Jean!  Jean!  You  are  a  free  woman.  You 
mean  all  there  is  in  the  world  to  me  of  purity  and 
goodness  and  sweetness.  I  need  you!  I  need  you! 
And  I  believe  you  need  me.  Let  us  begin  our  lives 
again,  Jean.  I  will  be  so  good  to  you;  I  will  love 
you  so  much  —  so  much." 

But  she  flung  open  the  door  behind  her. 

"You  must  go,"  she  said,  with  averted  head; 
"you  must  go!" 

"But  you  are  wrong;  oh,  you  are  very  wrong, 
Jean!  You  care;  I  know  you  care.  I  want  you 
to  belong  to  me,"  he  whispered. 

"I  have  my  own  duty;  I  see  it  clearly  now.  I 
*  have  been  wicked  and  selfish.  I  thought  only  of 
myself  when  I  left  Joe;  and  if  he  should  die  now 
it  would  be  my  fault,  my  sin." 

Her  distress  was  great  and  the  tears  coursed  down 
her  cheeks.  Then  she  threw  up  her  head  in  the 
way  he  loved.  Her  lips  trembled  but  there  was 
no  mistaking  her  words. 

"I'm  going  back  to  Joe;  I'm  going  back  to 
him." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

CLOSED    DOORS 

WAYNE  stood  uncertainly  on  the  boarding- 
house  steps,  glancing  up  and  down  the 
bleak,  deserted  street.  The  night  was  cold  and  a 
keen  wind  whipped  his  unbuttoned  ulster  round 
him.  The  woman  watching  him  through  the  blind, 
so  near  that  he  was  within  arm's  reach  of  her,  felt 
the  tragedy  of  this  hour.  Her  sense  of  responsibility 
for  one  man's  life  had  prompted  her  confession  in 
the  ugly  little  parlour;  but  there  stood  another, 
whose  need  of  her  was  not  less  great.  She  had 
sent  Wayne  Craighill  away  and  she  must  always 
think  of  him  as  he  stood  there,  outside  the  thresh 
old  of  her  life  as  it  was  to  be,  blown  upon  by  winds 
of  destiny.  A  bit  of  paper,  whirling  in  the  blast, 
was  not  more  a  thing  of  chance  than  he. 

A  succession  of  trolleys  passed  as  Wayne  lingered, 
staring  out  upon  the  street.  He  was  hardly  con 
scious  of  the  conflict  that  raged  within,  the  turbulent 
spirit,  the  appetite  already  thwarted  once  to-day, 
uncoiling  like  a  serpent  and  demanding  to  be  satisfied. 
His  heart  was  in  rebellion  against  whatever  gods 
he  knew.  No  one  in  all  the  city  was  so  lone  as  he; 
but  there  was  always  the  great  resource.  He  glanced 
toward  the  heart  of  the  city;  a  car  was  approaching 

355 


356  THE   LORDS   OF 

and  he  took  a  step;  it  was  approaching  rapidly 
and  he  started  to  run.  It  stopped  with  a  harsh 
grinding  of  the  brakes,  and  he  put  his  foot  on  the 
step,  then  swung  round,  leaving  an  angry  conductor 
swearing  on  the  platform,  and  walked  rapidly  toward 
home.  Jean,  waiting  at  the  window,  saw  and  read 
with  relief  the  meaning  of  his  changed  decision. 

The  spirit  of  the  storm  was  not  fiercer  than  that 
in  his  own  heart  as  he  strode  away  and  as  his  blood 
warmed  with  the  exercise  he  began  to  enjoy  his 
buffetting  in  the  gale.  He  had  started  up  the  long 
avenue  toward  the  East  End,  widening  at  every 
step  the  distance  between  himself  and  the  haunts 
he  had  known  in  drink.  The  internal  struggle  was 
less  strenuous,  now  that  his  body  fought  the  gale; 
and  the  remembrance  of  Jean  nestled  bird-like 
in  his  heart.  She  was  a  woman,  unlike  any  that 
had  ever  been  before  in  the  world,  and  she  had  opened 
her  soul  to  him  for  a  fleeting  glimpse  and  closed  the 
door  forever. 

He  strode  on  until  midnight,  with  the  bare  boughs 
of  the  trees  bending  over  him  under  the  lash  of 
the  blast;  and  he  found  himself  at  last  quite  near 
home,  and  suddenly  tired  and  weak,  for  he  had 
eaten  nothing  since  his  slight  luncheon.  When  he 
had  gained  the  house  and  let  himself  in  he  flung 
himself  down  in  a  chair  in  the  hall,  and  sat  there, 
too  weary  to  go  further.  The  weakness  of  hunger 
was  a  new  sensation  and  he  felt  so  strange  that  he 
wondered  if  he  were  ill,  and  nothing  that  had  hap 
pened  seemed  real  or  possible. 


HIGH   DECISION  357 

He  became  aware  of  a  light  step  on  the  stair  but 
in  the  dim  light  from  the  single  hall  lamp  he  saw 
no  one.  A  moment  later  the  switch  clicked  and 
Mrs.  Craighill  stood  gazing  at  him  as  he  sat  in  one 
of  the  high-backed  hall  chairs,  his  ulster  falling 
loosely  round  him,  his  hat  on  the  floor  at  his  side. 
There  was  no  mistaking  the  meaning  of  her  accusing 
glance. 

"Wayne!"  she  cried,  "what  are  you  doing  here?" 

He  rose  and  clung  wavering  to  the  chair,  confirm 
ing  her  impression  that  he  was  drunk. 

"I'm  all  right,  Addie.     I  haven't  been  drinking  - 
not  a  drop.     Don't  make  a  fuss.     I'll  go  up  to  bed 
in  a  minute.     I'm  a  little  knocked  out,  that's  all." 

He  shook  her  off  impatiently  as  she  tried  to  help 
him  out  of  his  coat. 

"Please  run  along,  Addie.  I'm  tired  to  death, 
and  I  guess  I'm  hungry.  I'll  get  some  crackers." 

Nothing  would  serve  now  but  that  she  must  find 
something  for  him  to  eat;  and  he  followed  her 
into  the  dining  room  where  she  lighted  the  alcohol 
lamp  and  prepared  to  make  tea.  He  protested, 
as  she  came  and  went  with  things  for  his  luncheon, 
that  far  less  would  do.  She  moved  about  softly 
in  her  slippered  feet,  her  dressing  gown  fluttering 
about  her,  while  he  sat  with  his  elbowrs  on  the  table 
and  his  head  in  his  hands,  unheedful  of  her  questions. 
She  brought  a  chair  and  sat  down  near  him  to 
tend  the  kettle  and  waited  what  seemed  an  insuffer 
able  time  for  him  to  speak.  Finally  she  said: 

"Your  father  came  in  only  a  little  while  before 


358  THE   LORDS   OF 

I  heard  you.  There  was  a  meeting  of  the  directors 
of  the  Hercules  National  to-night.  He  seemed 
very  much  troubled  when  he  came  home." 

Wayne  lifted  his  head.      'Yes;   I  suppose  he  is." 

"Have  the  business  troubles  affected  him?  He 
says  there  is  no  panic." 

Wayne  roused  himself  at  this  and  grinned. 

"You  might  be  sure  father  would  take  a  sanguine 
view  of  the  situation.  That's  his  way.  It  doesn't 
make  any  difference  what  you  call  it  —  a  panic  or 
a  shortage  of  currency  or  anything  else  —  the 
country's  been  scared  to  death  and  the  fright  isn't 
over  yet." 

He  drank  his  tea  and  ate  hungrily  the  sand 
wiches  she  had  made.  The  news  that  his  father  had 
been  at  the  bank  until  midnight  interested  him; 
he  knew  that  the  Hercules  carried  his  father's  paper 
for  a  very  large  amount,  and  that  it  was  maturing. 
Seeing  that  the  mention  of  the  financial  stringency 
had  interested  Wayne,  Mrs.  Craighill  jumped  to 
the  conclusion  that  the  Craighill  fortunes  were  in 
jeopardy  and  that  Wayne's  condition  was  due  to 
the  anxious  state  of  affairs  downtown.  She  had 
believed  her  husband  very  rich  and  the  thought 
that  he  might  experience  reverses  was  not  pleasing. 
She  had  passed  an  unhappy  day  after  her  interview 
with  her  husband  that  morning  touching  the  unfor 
tunate  Boston  excursion.  She  had  spent  the  evening 
alone  and,  though  Wayne  did  not  know  it,  she  had 
telephoned  to  the  Allequippa  Club  and  to  the  Penn 
and  asked  for  him.  She  had  much  to  tell  him  and 


HIGH   DECISION  359 

as  he  seemed  more  like  himself,  now  that  the 
hot  tea  had  warmed  his  chilled  body,  she  was 
quite  ready  to  prolong  this  interview  for  her  own 
relief  and  pleasure.  She  was  charming  en  neglige 
and  her  hair  in  long  braids  added  its  note  of 
intimacy. 

"It's  nice  to  see  you.  If  you  won't  tell  — really 
and  truly  —  I'll  confess  something." 

"Well?"   he  scowled. 

"Dear  me,  you'll  have  to  do  a  lot  better  than 
that,  Waynie,  dear." 

"Don't  call  me  Waynie;    it  makes  me  sick." 

"Oh,"  she  pouted  and  threw  herself  back  in  her 
chair. 

"  What  is  it  you  wanted  to  tell  me  ?"  he  demanded. 

"Nothing." 

"Then  don't  make  so  much  fuss  about  it.  You'd 
better  go  to  bed." 

"I'm  comfortable  right  now,  but  I've  been  lone 
some  and  unhappy  all  day.  I  hoped  you  would 
come  a  long  time  ago.  I  kept  a  fine  fire  going  for 
you  —  really  just  for  you  —  in  the  library,  and 
now  you're  as  cross  and  uninteresting  as  you  can 
be.  I  didn't  suppose  you  Craighills  were  all  cross." 

"So  father  was  cross  was  he?"  asked  Wayne, 
scowling  into  his  cigarette  case. 

"Oh,  terribly  cross.  I  tried  to  be  polite  to  him 
and  he  went  into  his  room  and  slammed  the  door. 
He  was  very  cross  this  morning  when  he  came 
home  from  Boston.  He  saw  my  mother  up  there." 

Wayne's  manner  changed. 


360  THE   LORDS  OF 

"That's  perfectly  bully!  If  you  have  any  more 
news  like  that,  Addie,  you  may  go  on  and  tell  me. 
Let's  move  into  the  library." 

He  stirred  the  fire  into  life  and  threw  on  fresh 
wood.  He  was  refreshed  by  his  luncheon  and  it 
was  the  curse  of  his  temperament  that  he  never 
ignored  the  nearest  pleasure.  Addie  was  a  pretty 
trifle  of  a  woman  and  it  was  not  unpleasant  to  find 
her  in  a  receptive  mood.  She  crouched  beside 
him,  so  close  that  he  could  have  placed  his  hand 
on  her  head. 

;'This  is  very  cozy,  isn't  it  ?  It  must  be  hideously 
cold  outside.  Your  father  was  going  to  take  me 
to  Bermuda  for  Easter,  but  I  suppose  we  may  all 
be  in  the  poor-house  by  that  time." 

"Stranger  things  have  happened.  But  they 
wouldn't  take  you  at  the  alms-house.  You  are 
young  and  capable.  I  don't  just  see  you  sitting  on 
the  bench  with  the  old  ladies,  knitting  socks.  It 
would  not  become  you,  Addie.  If  the  worst  comes 
you  would  go  out  like  a  brave  little  woman  and 
support  your  husband." 

She  flashed  a  frightened  look  at  him;  she  had  no 
idea  that  her  husband's  difficulties  were  serious, 
though  she  assumed  he  might  be  temporarily  embar 
rassed,  as  men  often  were,  without  finding  it  necessary 
to  change  their  manner  of  life.  She  remembered 
that  the  roof  over  her  head  belonged  to  Wayne  and 
she  sought  to  reassure  herself  as  to  the  permanence 
of  the  arrangement  by  which  Colonel  Craighill  had 
the  use  of  it. 


HIGH   DECISION  361 

"You  wouldn't  let  them  turn  me  out-of-doors, 
would  you  Wayne?" 

"Well,  if  father  went  broke  it  would  hardly  be 
up  to  me  to  carry  on  the  house  here;  it's  an  expensive 
establishment  to  run.  I  might  have  to  sell  it  myself." 

"Yes;  I  suppose  your  interests  and  your  father's 
are  identical.  What  hurts  him  would  hurt  you." 

"Not  at  all!  Our  interests  are  anything  but 
identical.  We  belong"  -  he  said,  with  an  irony 
that  was  for  his  own  satisfaction  -  "  we  belong  to 
different  schools  of  finance.  Father's  a  plunger 
without  knowing  it;  I'm  a  Wayne  and  the  Waynes 
were  always  true  Scots  and  kept  what  they  had 
and  sat  on  it.  Father  likes  to  be  director  of  things, 
and  the  things  liked  to  have  him.  He's  been  used 
a  good  deal  as  bait  —  that's  what  it  amounts  to. 
He's  just  paid  about  two  hundred  thousand  dollars 
for  the  privilege  of  sitting  with  a  lot  of  solemn 
gentlemen  up  at  Boston  who  organized  a  big  corpor 
ation  to  raise  bananas  or  grape  fruit  or  something 
in  the  torrid  deserts  of  Mexico.  You  know  father 
well  enough  by  this  time  to  understand  how  that 
idea  would  appeal  to  him  —  irrigation  to  water  the 
desert  and  make  it  blossom  as  the  rose!  I  went 
in  for  a  few  thousand  and  so  did  Walsh;  but  we 
quit,  and  to-day  when  I  told  father  I  had  sold  out 
he  was  wounded.  Tom  Walsh  is  about  the  shrewd 
est  old  party  there  is  around  here.  WTe  sold  out 
at  the  same  time  and  both  made  money." 

He  laughed  softly  to  himself  and  slapped  his  knee. 
-•  "If  you  knew  your  father  had  got  into  a  bad 


362  THE   LORDS   OF 

thing    you    ought    to    have    told    him  —  don't    you 
think  so?" 

:'Yes,"  he  mocked  her,  still  chuckling;  "we 
ought  to  have  told  the  Colonel  he  had  bought 
a  dead  horse  —  and  been  gently  kicked  for 
our  trouble.  We  know  the  Colonel,  Tom  and  I. 
You  notice  that  Tom  bought  out  the  mercantile 
house.  Tom's  wiser  than  a  serpent;  he  knew  it 
was  the  best  thing  father  had.  Tom  likes  me. 
Isn't  it  funny?  He's  always  settled  all  claims  for 
damages  against  me  when  I've  ripped  things  loose 
—  and  done  it  economically  and  quietly  —  never 
said  anything,  but  just  asked  later  for  my  check 
and  said  "Um"  when  I  thanked  him.  I  caught 
the  old  rascal  once  giving  an  organ  to  a  church 
somewhere  -  -  Vermont  or  New  Hampshire ;  I  guess 
it  was  Vermont,  come  to  think  of  it.  He  was  terribly 
bored  when  the  bill  strayed  in  to  my  desk.  It  was 
in  memory  of  his  father  and  mother  and  he  growled 
fiercely  because  I  got  on  to  it." 

"He's  a  strange  man;  I  don't  understand  him," 
remarked  Mrs.  Craighill  carelessly. 

"By  the  way,  how  did  you  come  out  with  your 
drive  with  Tom?  Of  course  you  told  father  you 
had  been  out  riding  with  another  man.  I  don't 
know  just  how  he  would  have  taken  it;  you  see 
Tom  was  only  a  sort  of  clerk  in  father's  office; 
father  never  knew  him  socially.  I'll  wager  you 
didn't  tell  the  Colonel." 

"No;  I  didn't  tell  him.  He  was  so  angry  about 
mother  having  spoiled  his  visit  to  the  Brodericks' 


HIGH   DECISION  363 

and  threatening  to  come  here  for  a  visit  that  I  couldn't 
have  told  him  if  I  had  wanted  to." 

"Ah!  I  suppose  you'll  wire  her  not  to  come, 
like  a  good  little  girl." 

"No;  I'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind;  but  she  won't 
come." 

Her  tone  caused  him  to  look  at  her  quickly;  but 
she  met  his  gaze  quietly  and  asked: 

"How  did  you  get  on  with  Miss  Morley  after 
I  so  considerately  left  you  alone  this  morning? 
This  has  really  been  a  very  busy  day,  hasn't  it?" 

Wayne's  heart  sank  at  the  mention  of  Jean.  It 
was  in  this  room  that  very  morning  that  heaven 
had  seemed  so  near.  Mrs.  Craighill  had  followed 
her  inquiry  with  a  glance  to  see  why  he  ignored 
her  question.  He  had  turned  forward  the  table 
by  which  Jean  had  stood  when  he  took  her  hand 
and  held  it  to  his  face.  He  did  not  answer  her 
question  but  stared  dully  into  the  fire  where  the 
events  of  the  day  mocked  him  in  kinetoscopic  flashes. 
Mrs.  Craighill  raised  herself  to  her  knees  and  brought 
her  face  close  to  his. 

"Are  you  in  love  with  her,  Wayne?" 

"What  if  I  am?"  he  snapped,  stirring  uneasily 
and  drawing  slightly  away  from  her. 

"I'd  be  sorry  if  you  were  in  love  with  anyone, 
I  think ;  but  you  musn't  let  her  hurt  you.  I  shouldn't 
like  that.  She  is  too  handsome  for  a  poor  girl;  I 
suppose  I  was  too,"  she  concluded  with  a  sigh. 

She  found  and  caressed  his  hand.  The  faint, 
elusive  perfume  of  her  silken  robe,  the  light  touch 


364  THE  LORDS   OF 

of  her  hand,  the  fine  precision  of  her  profile,  the 
pretty  red  lips  and  heavy-lidded,  smiling  eyes  com 
bined  to  quicken  his  heartbeats.  She  was  here, 
quite  within  his  reach,  a  wounded  bird,  with  bruised 
wings,  asking  shelter.  The  revenge  he  had  carried 
in  his  heart  since  the  night  he  read  her  letter  announc 
ing  her  engagement  to  marry  his  father  was  attain 
able  -  -  he  knew  it  by  all  the  manifold  testimonies 
of  his  senses,  the  response  of  his  nature  to  hers. 
She  was,  as  Tom  Walsh  had  said,  fragile,  like  glass; 
and  he  was  a  veritable  weathercock,  the  wind's 
plaything.  His  hand  closed  over  hers,  she  drew 
nearer  and  her  head  lay  on  his  breast,  and  he  stroked 
her  fair,  bright  hair. 

"It's  good  to  be  happy.  I  wish  I  belonged  to 
you.  If  things  only  went  right  in  this  world  I  should, 
and  we  should  have  dear  times  together." 

Her  bare  arm  stole  about  his  neck;  the  touch 
of  it  kindled  his  blood  like  flame. 

"You  are  tired  of  it?"  he  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

'Yes,"  she  answered  softly. 

'You've  been  cheated;  you  paid  a  big  price  for 
the  happiness  you  didn't  g*et." 

"He  doesn't  care  the  least  bit.  I  don't  interest 
him.  You  might  think  he  would  talk  to  me  when 
he  was  in  trouble,  but  he  keeps  as  far  away  as  he 
can.  But — I'm  really  not  so  bad  —  am  I,  Wayne? 
I'm  not  ugly,  or  stupid,  or  so  very  foolish?" 

He  pressed  her  hand  for  answer. 

"Don't  you  think  I'm  as  nice  as  Jean?  She's 
big  and  strong  and  handsome  —  and  she's  inter- 


HIGH   DECISION  365 

esting  —  I  can  see  how  she  appeals  to  you ;  but 
there's  so  much  she  doesn't  know.  Don't  you  believe 
I  know  more  than  she  does?" 

His  hand  relaxed;  she  was  aware  that  he  drew 
away  from  her.  He  rose,  almost  flinging  her  away. 

"For  God's  sake,  Addie,  don't  talk  to  me  of  her; 
don't  speak  of  her." 

"Oh!"  It  was  the  exclamation  of  a  rebuked 
child.  "  Of  course  I  didn't  understand,"  she  pouted. 
"You  seemed  lonely  and  I  was  trying  to  be  good 
to  you.  Of  course,  then,  she  is  wiser  than  I  am. 
If  I'd  known  how  it  stood  with  you  I  shouldn't 
have  spoken  of  her  at  all." 

"She  knows  what  you  don't  know;  she  knows 
me." 

"Then  she  must  be  very  wise!" 

"She  knows  ten  thousand  things  you  never 
dreamed  of;  she  has  watched  them  bring  dead 
men  out  of  the  pit;  she  has  heard  grimy  children 
crying  for  their  dead  fathers.  She  knows  the  real 
things;  but  life  to  you  is  only  a  candy  box  with 
pretty  pictures  on  the  cover." 

"This  may  be  very  interesting,"  she  remarked 
coldly,  "but  I'm  afraid  you're  going  to  bore  me. 
I  don't  think  I  care  to  hear  about  dead  men  and  the 
pit  and  children  crying.  Good  night." 

He  was  safe  for  the  moment.  Her  reference  to 
Jean  had  steadied  him,  but  he  was  not  sure  of  him 
self.  He  felt  that  Jean  was  there  by  the  table  where 
he  had  pressed  her  hand  to  his  face;  the  viol-like 
chords  of  her  voice  were  in  his  ears;  he  saw  the 


366  THE   LORDS   OF 

light  of  her  countenance  and  felt  the  benediction 
of  her  spirit. 

Mrs.  Craighill  had  never  understood  him  less 
than  in  that  instant  when,  half  turning  to  leave, 
she  saw  the  far-away  look  of  his  eyes,  the  straight 
ening  of  his  figure  and  the  indifferent  glance  that 
showed  his  acquiescence  in  her  departure. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  the  lights  in  the  hall, 
which  they  had  turned  off  when  they  sought  the 
library,  flashed  on  again.  Mrs.  Craighill  sprang 
to  the  switch  inside  the  library  door  and  darkened 
the  room.  The  hall  lights  fell  only  faintly  across 
the  library  threshold,  but  as  she  peered  out  through 
the  portieres  Mrs.  Craighill  saw  her  husband 
slowly  descending,  clad  in  his  dressing  gown,  some 
papers  in  his  hand.  Her  heart  tore  at  her  breast 
as  she  waited.  When  he  reached  the  hall  she  was 
quite  sure  that  he  would  come  into  the  library  and 
she  put  her  hand  over  her  mouth  to  stifle  her  fright 
ened  breathing.  But  he  turned  toward  the  little 
coat  room  and  she  heard  him  at  the  telephone. 
She  was  faint  from  fear,  but  Wayne  caught  her 
wrist  and  held  her.  Colonel  Craighill  was  dictating 
a  message  to  the  telegraph  office;  cries  for  help 
these  messages  were,  Wayne  knew,  to  friends  in 
New  York  and  Philadelphia,  and  they  added  testi 
mony  to  the  worst  Wayne  knew  of  his  father's 
plight. 

"  Come,"  Wayne  whispered  to  the  shrinking  woman 
-"come." 

He  drew  her  across  the  room  and  through  a  little- 


HIGH   DECISION  367 

used  door  that  communicated  with  the  rear  of  the 
house,  to  a  circular  stairway  that  led  to  the  upper 
floors,  and  waited  until  he  heard  the  door  above 
open  and  shut  softly.  Then  he  went  back  to  the 
library  and  saw  his  father  pass  into  the  lighted 
area  of  the  hall  and  mount  the  stair  slowly. 

The  lights  were  snapped  out  from  above  and 
the  house  was  still.  Wayne  sighed  deeply  and 
sought  in  the  dark  the  chair  in  which  Jean  had 
sat  that  morning.  When  the  light  of  the  late  winter 
dawn  crept  in  grayly  he  was  still  there,  his  head 
bowed  in  his  arms  on  the  table. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

"  YOU  LOVE  ANOTHER  MAN,  JEAN  " 

IT  WAS  two  weeks  later  that  Jean,  paying  her 
daily  visit  to  the  parish  house,  found  Joe 
sitting  up  in  bed.  The  nurse  was  to  leave  the  next 
day,  and  Joe  was  impatient  to  be  about  again.  The 
room  had  taken  on  a  brighter  air  from  Joe's  conva 
lescence.  A  light  had  been  so  arranged  by  his  bed 
that  he  could  read  and  he  had  gorged  himself  with 
sporting  supplements  which  Paddock  had  collected 
for  him.  Life  had  begun  to  interest  Joe  again. 
The  philosophers  of  the  diamond  were  already 
speculating  as  to  the  disposition  of  players,  great 
and  small;  strategy  boards  were  in  session  wherever 
" fiends"  congregated,  planning  the  campaigns  of 
the  approaching  season.  Pittsburg's  chances  of 
winning  the  pennant  were,  even  in  December,  a 
burning  issue  among  men  of  apparent  sanity. 

Jean  drew  off  her  coat  and  sat  down  near  him. 

She  had  brought  three  carnations  and  gave  them 

into  his  hand  to  hold  while  she  found  a  glass  for  them. 

"They're  nice  flowers.     Thank  you,  Jean." 

She  moved   about   the  tidy  room,   doing  useless 

and  unnecessary  things  to  satisfy  her  inner  sense 

of   duty.     He   did   not    know    that    her    heart   was 

beating  fast  or  that  her  hands  trembled.     She  was 

3G8 


THE   LORDS   OF   HIGH  DECISION   369 

almost  as  white  as  he  when  she  sat  down  beside 
him.  There  were  many  questions  that  he  wished 
to  ask  her,  but  he  was  not  sure  to  what  new  ground 
of  relationship  his  recovery  had  brought  them. 

"I've  given  everybody  a  lot  of  trouble.  Kind  o' 
tough  turnin'  Father  Jim  out  of  his  own  bed.  He's 
the  real  stuff,  all  right.  I  guess  I'll  be  some  time 
squarin'  this.  He  says"  he  hesitated  a  moment 
and  the  smile  died  away  from  his  good-humoured 
mouth—  "he  —  Father  Jim  says  my  boss  was  out 
here." 

'Yes,"  Jean  replied.  "Mr.  Craighill  came  out 
here  when  you  were  sick  and  sat  right  there  beside 
you.  He  was  very  kind  and  has  had  things  sent 
out  —  many  nice  things  to  eat.  The  nurse  has  been 
giving  them  to  you;  she  didn't  know  where  they 
came  from,  probably." 

"How  long  ago  did  he  come?"  asked  Joe,  the 
apprehension  showing  in  his  face,  and  she  under 
stood. 

"That  was  when  you  were  first  sick.  There  was 
a  chance  that  you  might  never  get  well  and  you 
were  delirious  and  kept  talking  about  him  and  calling 
for  him.  So  Father  Paddock  telephoned  him  to 
come." 

"Where  is  he  now?"  Joe  asked  presently;  and 
Jean  met  his  eyes  and  answered : 

"I  don't  know.  I  think  he's  gone  away  some 
where." 

Joe  shook  his  head  weakly  on  the  pillow. 

"I  guess  I  ought  to  be  up  and  lookin'  out  for  him. 


370  THE   LORDS   OF 

I  could  always  handle  him  when  he  was  bad.     You 
better  get  Walsh  on  the  job." 

"Mr.  Walsh  and  Mr.  Wingfield  both  understand. 
You  needn't  trouble  about  Mr.  Craighill." 

"I  guess  Whiskers  —  that's  Wingfield  —  is  all 
right,"  remarked  Joe  reflectively.  "Wingfield  and 
Walsh  are  good  friends  of  the  boss  and  I  guess 
they'll  look  out  for  him.  But  he's  pretty  fierce  to 
handle  when  he  gets  goin'." 

"You  may  be  mistaken,"  said  Jean.  "I  don't 
believe  it's  that." 

"  Well,  he's  due  all  right.  If  Whiskers  and  Walsh 
are  both  lookin'  for  him  he  must  be  pretty  bad. 
I  say,  Jean." 

"Yes,  Joe." 

"You  know  what  I  did  out  there  at  Rosedale  — 
followin'  you  that  wray.  I  guess  I  was  sick  then, 
and  my  head  wasn't  right.  It  seemed  kind  o' 
funny  to  be  takin'  you  a  ride  in  his  machine  with 
him.  And  the  widder,  too.  It  was  kind  o'  funny, 
him  and  the  widder  bein'  out  there.  I  ain't  onto 
the  widder  but  she's  a  good  looker  all  right. 
But  the  Colonel  —  say,  he's  frosted  fruit.  He  ain't 
got  much  use  for  me.  I  can  see  it  in  his  eye.  But 
Sister  Fanny  —  that's  Mrs.  Blair  —  I'm  strong  for 
her.  She's  the  human  featherduster,  all  right,  but 
she  means  good.  You  know  I  never  lived  round 
rich  folks  till  Mr.  Wayne  set  me  up  as  chauffeur 
and  moved  me  into  the  garage.  Guess  I  might 
'a'  been  rich  myself  if  I  hadn't  fell  off  the  bus  at 
Harrisburg  and  cracked  my  right  pipe.  But  say, 


HIGH   DECISION  371 

Jean,  I  never  tell  the  boss,  but  I  can  pitch  with  my 
left  arm  just  as  good  as  the  right.  I  got  a  new 
southpaw  ball  that  would  worry  the  boys  some 
if  I  went  into  the  game  again.  But  I  told  Father 
Jim  I  would  cut  it  out  and  hang  on  to  chaufferin', 
which  ain't  what  you  might  think  with  the  speed 
limit  what  it  is,  if  he  thought  Mr.  Wayne  needed 
me.  You  see  I'm  onto  his  curves  and  know  how 
to  handle  him." 

"Yes,  Joe;  I'm  sure  you  have  repaid  him  for 
his  kindnesses  to  you." 

It  was  not  easy  to  hear  Wayne  Craighill  spoken 
of  in  this  way.  If  it  had  not  been  that  she  realized 
the  depth  of  Joe's  fidelity  and  devotion  to  Wayne 
she  could  not  have  stood  it.  For  Joe  saw  in  Wayne's 
lapses  only  the  pardonable  escapades  of  a  young 
man  of  fortune  whose  spectacular  performances 
were  free  from  the  ignominy  that  attaches  to  drunken 
outbreaks  of  the  poor  and  obscure.  Joe  felt  that 
he  was  not  saying  the  right  thing;  Jean's  inattention 
warned  him  to  stop.  Her  hands  were  clasped  in 
her  lap,  and  her  lips  had  been  shut  tight  during 
his  wandering  recital.  When  she  and  Wayne  had 
sat  here  in  this  room  with  Joe  between  them  she 
had  resolved  upon  a  course  that  would  abruptly 
change  the  channel  of  her  life  —  that  might  blight 
and  wreck  it  irrecoverably.  She  had  already  made 
her  purpose  clear  to  Wayne  and  that  had  been  hard ; 
and  she  had  Joe  to  tell  now  and  that  was  more 
difficult,  for  while  Wayne  could  understand  what  it 
meant  to  her,  she  knew  that  Joe  was  incapable  of 


372  THE   LORDS   OF 

understanding.  She  had  brought  herself  by  slow, 
difficult  steps  to  the  high  altar  of  duty  and  was 
ready  now  to  make  confession  and  yield  up  her 
sacrifice. 

"Joe,  there's  something  I  must  tell  you.  I've 
been  waiting  to  tell  you  until  you  were  well  enough 
to  hear." 

"I'm  all  right,  Jean;  go  ahead,"  he  said,  turning 
so  that  he  might  see  her  better. 

'You  know,  Joe,  that  when  I  left  you  it  was 
because  I  felt  that  we  had  made  a  mistake,  and 
that  we  could  never  be  happy  together.  I  was 
honest  about  it;  I  felt  that  it  would  be  a  great  sin 
for  us  to  go  on  living  together  when  I  found  I  didn't 
care.  I  was  young  and  so  were  you  and  we  had 
never  thought  about  life  seriously.  You  were  the 
nicest,  manliest  boy  in  our  town,  and  you  thought 
I  was  the  nicest  girl,  so  we  ran  off  and  got  married. 
It  wasn't  necessary  to  run  away,  but  it  seemed 
romantic  and  it  was  childish,  like  all  the  rest  of  it." 

"We  were  kids,  all  right,"  murmured  Joe. 

"But  when  it  was  done  and  we  were  married 
I  saw  how  serious  it  was  and  I  saw  the  mistake, 
too.  Just  to  live  on  with  you,  and  to  work  for 
you  while  you  were  working  for  me  and  to  go  on 
that  way  till  we  died  —  I  saw  right  away,  Joe,  that 
wouldn't  do.  And  there  was  the  fear  of  children 
coming  —  you  know  what  the  children  of  the  poor 
in  mining  towns  are  like,  and  the  thought  of  that 
was  a  terror  to  me,  Joe.  I  don't  think  you  ever 
understood  how  I  felt  about  that.  And  more  than 


HIGH   DECISION  373 

anything  else  I  realized  that  I  wanted  to  go  on  with 
my  work  —  that  it  meant  more  to  me  than  you 
did,  Joe.  I'm  speaking  of  these  things  because 
it's  only  square  to  myself  that  I  should  go  over  them 
for  a  minute.  You  were  as  kind  as  could  be;  you 
cared  —  cared  as  I  did  not  and  could  not." 

"Oh,  I  know  that,  Jean  —  I  know  it.     But  let's 
not  talk  about  it  —  it's  no  use  talking  about  it." 

:<  We  must  talk  of  it  —  or  I  must,  and  I  want  to 
do  it  now.  You  never  did  one  thing  that  was  not 
right.  You  were  a  good,  clean,  honest  boy  and 
you  would  never  have  done  anything  to  hurt  me. 
It  was  I  who  hurt  you.  You  were  generous  and 
kind  and  I  was  selfish  and  hard.  I  saw  only  my 
own  happiness  and  the  chance  of  doing  something 
in  the  world  for  myself.  And  I  put  you  away  from 
me  as  though  you  had  done  me  some  great  wrong  - 
or  as  though  you  had  been  a  bit  of  ribbon  I  didn't 
want  any  more.  A  woman  has  no  right  to  treat 
a  man  that  way  when  he  has  never  harmed  her  or 
done  any  dishonourable  thing  —  when  he  is  kind  and 
gentle  as  you  were.  It  seems  a  long  time  ago  that 
it  all  happened,  and  I  supposed  you  didn't  care 
any  more.  But  after  I  came  here  and  began  seeing 
you  again  I  saw  that  you  had  not  forgotten  and  that 
it  hurt  you  deeply.  I  suppose  I  never  felt  quite 
right  about  it.  It  felt  like  a  fraud  on  people  who 
thought  I  had  never  been  married,  but  I  told  the 
friends  I  made  here  —  Mrs.  Blair  and  Mr.  Paddock. 
I  suppose  that  in  my  heart  I  knew  all  the  time  that 
I  had  done  wrong.  I  had  set  myself  up  as  better 


374  THE   LORDS   OF 

than  you  were,  and  I  had  broken  my  oath  to  you; 
the  law  could  never  make  that  right,  but  I  never 
understood  it  until  that  evening  I  came  here  first 
and  saw  you  sick,  and  other  people  taking  care 
of  you." 

The  old  ache  had  come  into  his  heart.  It  had 
never  hurt  him  so  much  as  now  and  in  his  weakness 
the  tears  stole  down  his  cheeks,  but  he  shook  his 
head  wearily  on  the  pillow. 

"It's  all  over;  I'm  sorry  I  bothered  you  and  that 
I  ran  after  you  that  day  in  the  snow-storm,  but  I 
guess  I  wasn't  quite  right  in  my  head  then.  It 
was  this  sickness  coming  on.  But  it's  all  done, 
and  you  don't  need  to  trouble  about  it,  Jean." 

"But,  Joe,"  and  she  bent  nearer  and  took  his 
hand,  his  big  battered  hand,  with  his  fingers  twisted 
and  bent  by  mine  labour  and  the  punishment  of 
the  ball  field;  caressed  it  and  went  on  in  the  same 
low  tone  with  which  she  had  begun.  "It  isn't  over, 
Joe.  I've  talked  to  Mr.  Paddock  about  that.  He 
says  the  court's  making  me  free  and  giving  me 
my  name  again  doesn't  really  count.  You  know 
how  good  and  kind  and  gentle  he  is,  but  he  was 
very  firm  about  that.  He  said  I  had  sacrificed  my 
duty  to  my  ambition  —  that  was  the  way  he  put  it 
—  and  now,  Joe " 

And  this  was  the  hardest  thing  for  her  to  say; 
it  was  bending  her  neck  again  to  the  yoke  from 
which  she  had  been  free;  and  there  was  a  pain  in 
her  heart  that  was  not  for  herself  but  for  him,  for 
he  had  been  the  sufferer;  it  was  he  that  had  cared. 


HIGH   DECISION  375 

But  she  knew,  as  she  believed  he  could  not,  how 
impossible  it  would  be  for  them  to  find  the  lost 
path  in  which  they  had  begun  to  walk  together. 
He  would  take  what  she  offered  without  knowing  at 
how  great  a  cost  she  gave  it,  and  her  mind  leaped  on 
at  a  bound  across  the  long  years  before  them  to 
the  end  of  their  lives.  She  saw  her  hopes  for  her 
work  crumble  into  dust,  and  the  world  of  beauty 
which  the  dawning  consciousness  of  her  powers 
had  illumined  before  her,  the  joy  of  success,  the 
stimulus  of  applause,  the  acquaintance  of  people 
who  would  appreciate  her  skill  —  all  these  things 
she  would  sweep  away  by  a  word  and  forget  that 
they  had  ever  been  her  dreams  or  that  life  had  ever 
held  anything  better  for  her  than  being  Joe's  wife, 
and  living  on  with  him,  and  eating  the  bread  won 
for  her  by  the  hand  that  lay  there  in  hers.  Suddenly, 
before  she  could  finish  and  tell  him  she  would  go 
back  to  him  and  renew  the  broken  tie,  she  felt  his 
clasp  tighten  and  she  took  it  that  he  understood 
and  that  this  was  his  acceptance  of  what  she  meant 
to  offer.  She  did  not  look  into  his  eyes  at  once 
and  she  hoped  he  would  not  speak,  for  anything 
he  could  say  would  only  cause  her  pain. 

"Jean." 

"Yes,"  she  said  bravely. 

"It's  no  good,  Jean.  I  can't  let  you  do  that; 
we  quit,  and  if  that  was  wrong  we  can't  fix  it  now. 
You  don't  need  to  feel  sorry  for  me.  I'll  be  out 
o'  here  and  all  right  pretty  soon.  And  I  ain't  goin' 
to  drag  you  down.  You  talk  about  doin'  me  a 


376  THE   LORDS   OF 

wrong,  but  that's  no  reason  why  I  should  do  you 
a  bigger  one.  We  meant  well  when  we  started 
out,  but  it  would  never  have  been  any  good.  Don't 
you  feel  sorry  about  it  —  it's  all  right,  Jean.  It's 
like  the  good  girl  you  are  to  offer  to  take  me  back, 
but  it's  all  done  and  over.  I  want  you  to  be  happy 
and  go  on  with  your  work;  but  I'm  not  goin'  to 
be  a  dead  weight  on  you.  We  ain't  for  each  other, 
Jean." 

He  dropped  her  hand,  as  though  the  matter  were 
concluded;  but  what  he  had  said  was  not  a  release, 
it  only  sent  her  back  to  the  beginning  of  her  task. 

'You  love  me,  don't  you,  Joe  — just  as  you 
always  did?'* 

He  turned  his  head  away  and  did  not  answer. 

"And  if  you  do,  I  owe  it  to  you  to  go  back  to 
you.  I  had  no  right  to  throw  your  love  away  after 
I  had  taken  it  and  pledged  you  mine.  The  only 
way  I  can  make  it  right  —  the  only  thing  there  is 
to  do  —  is  for  me  to  come  back." 

He  was  silent  a  long  time  and  when  he  turned 
toward  her  he  asked  slowly: 

"Do  you  love  me  —  do  you  care  for  me,  Jean, 
even  a  little  bit,  as  you  did  when  we  were  married?" 

In  the  long  silence  that  followed  she  did  not  see 
the  tears  that  brightened  his  eyes ;  but  he  drew  him 
self  up  slowly,  drawing  the  pillow  under  his  arm 
for  support. 

'You  don't  care  any  more,  Jean.  You  didn't 
care  when  you  left  me  and  got  the  divorce;  and 
you  don't  care  now.  But  that's  like  all  the  rest; 


HIGH   DECISION  377 

it's  past  and  over.  Maybe  sometime  I  won't  care 
any  more  either.  You  love  another  man,  Jean, 
and  that's  all  right,  too.  He's  my  friend  and  he's 
been  kinder  to  me  than  anybody  else  ever  was. 
He  needs  you  —  I  guess  you  know  that.  And  it's 
all  right,  Jean,  it's  all  right." 

The  mention  of  Wayne  had  filled  her  heart  with 
wild  tumult,  and  she  made  no  reply.  Joe  knew 
the  truth:  that  she  did  not  care  for  him,  and  that 
if  she  had  ever  cared  greatly  she  would  not  have 
left  him.  She  could  not  lie  to  him;  for  duty  cloaked 
in  deceit  would  be  only  false  and  ignoble.  s 

The  nurse  came  in,  ending  the  interview.  On 
her  way  out  Jean  asked  for  Paddock,  but  he  was 
in  the  city.  So  she  went  back  to  her  boarding 
house  with  a  troubled  heart. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE  HOUSE  OF  PEACE 

WINGFIELD,  Walsh  and  Paddock  sat  in 
melancholy  council  in  Walsh's  glass  box  of 
an  office.  The  Blotter  had  been  at  it  again.  Wing- 
field  had  suggested  bringing  Paddock  into  the 
matter,  though  Walsh  had  demurred  that  it  was 
hardly  decent  to  use  a  preacher  as  a  policeman. 
It  was  Walsh's  idea  that  Wayne  —  who  had  used 
his  motor  car  as  a  battering  ram  against  the 
austere  walls  of  the  county  jail  —  should  be  dis 
patched  to  a  sanatorium  for  treatment.  Paddock 
shook  his  head. 

"Please  —  not  yet!"  begged  the  minister. 

"But  you've  got  to  come  to  it  sooner  or  later. 
It's  a  disease  in  that  boy  and  we  may  as  well  handle 
it  on  that  basis." 

Wingfield,  who  had  consulted  several  medical 
friends  as  to  the  treatment  of  dipsomania,  confirmed 
and  supported  Walsh.  Paddock  smiled  sadly. 

"I  happen  to  know  that  he  had  been  tried  a  good 
deal  of  late.  He  has  had  a  staggering  blow  or  two. 
He  had  been  straight  for  several  months  —  made  a 
new  record.  And  he  ran  against  a  very  serious  prop 
osition  that  was  too  much  for  him.  ' 

"What's   that?"    demanded    Walsh   bluntly. 

378 


THE   LORDS   OF  HIGH   DECISION   379 

"He  told  me  last  fall  that  he  had  decided  to  go  to 
hell  --in  just  those  words  —  he's  disappointed;  he's 
found  out  that  it's  not  so  easy  as  he  thought." 

"Um,"  grunted  Walsh,  feeling  in  his  pocket  for 
a  cigar  to  chew. 

"I  mean,"  said  Paddock,  "that  he's  too  much  of  a 
man  for  the  devil  to  handle.  There's  real  manhood 
in  Wayne  Craighill;  he  would  be  lonesome  in  hell. 
And  besides,  the  road  downward  isn't  so  easy  as  it 
looks.  Please  understand  me,  gentlemen,  I'm  not 
talking  religion;  I'm  merely  stating  the  plain  truth 
from  my  own  observation  and  experience.  I  had 
the  same  idea  once  myself.  I'm  not  proud  of  it  and 
mention  it  only  to  illuminate  my  point.  I  used  to 
get  most  beastly  and  hideously  drunk,  so  I  don't 
take  a  purely  academic  view  of  such  cases,  but 
where  there's  any  manhood  left  in  a  fellow  he  can't 
be  as  wicked  as  he  wants  to  be.  I've  had  my  eye  on 
Wayne  all  winter.  Good  influences  have  touched 
him.  But  with  the  good  came  unhappiness  and  he 
saw  no  way  out  but  the  red  door  that  pushes  in  on 
greased  hinges.  He's  like  a  child.  When  he  can't 
get  what  he  wants  he  vents  his  rage  by  getting  drunk 
and  trying  to  tear  the  town  to  pieces.  He  will  profit 
by  a  brief  rustication  in  a  safe  place  where  no  one 
will  bother  him  and  where  he  won't  feel  the  shame 
of  being  hustled  into  a  drunkard's  cure  somewhere. 
We  can  always  fall  back  on  the  doctors.  Let's 
send  him  to  a  place  I  know  over  here  in  Virginia 
where  they're  practising  a  new  idea  in  just  such 
cases  ~~~~ 


380  THE   LORDS   OF 

"Hypnotism,  psychotherapy  —  what  is  it?" 
asked  Wingfield. 

"Bless  you,  no!  It's  the  idea  I've  already  sug 
gested,  which  was  developed  by  a  friend  of  mine 
in  the  ministry,  that  no  man  can  be  as  base  as  he 
wants  to  be  —  an  attack  on  sin  on  the  score  of  its 
futility.  Wayne  had  begun  to  catch  glimpses  of 
that  a  little  while  ago.  He  thought  he  saw  a  straight 
road  right  down  to  the  bottom,  but  he  was  surprised 
to  find  that  it  wasn't  such  clear  sailing  after  all. 
Something  happened  very  unexpectedly  to  make  him 
pause;  then  he  couldn't  get  what  he  wanted  so  he 
decided  it  was  all  off  again  and  he's  been  drunk  and 
disorderly.  Now  if  you'll  let  me  have  him  for  a 
couple  of  weeks,  I'll  see  if  we  can't  give  him  a  new 
idea  or  two,  and  when  you've  interrupted  the  down 
ward  course  several  times  —  a  score  if  necessary  — 
he'll  begin  to  understand  that  we  don't  really  fashion 
our  own  lives  at  all.  As  I  said  before,  we  can't 
be  as  wicked  as  we'd  like  to  be  —  assuming,  of  course, 
that  we  are  not  utterly  depraved  and  abandoned  and 
that  there's  still  something  left  to  nail  to.  All  this 
isn't  my  idea  —  Paul  Stoddard  suggested  it." 

"Stoddard  —  the  Protestant  monk,"  remarked 
Wingfield  doubtfully. 

"Not  in  the  mediaeval  sense,  however,"  replied 
Paddock.  "  He's  an  original,  up-to-date  monk.  He 
takes  cases  that  everybody  else  has  given  up  —  and 
he  has  no  failures." 

"Um.  If  you  think  praying  over  Wayne  Craighill 
will  cure  him  of  drunkenness  you  can  do  it,"  growled 


HIGH   DECISION  381 

Walsh,  who  had  with  difficulty  rescued  Wayne  from 
the  clutches  of  the  police  only  the  night  before. 
"I'd  rather  try  some  other  kind  of  medicine." 

"You  needn't  be  afraid  of  Stoddard.  He  won't 
pray  over  Wayne  or  scold  him  or  preach  to  him." 

"You  spoke  of  some  hard  blow  Wayne  had 
recently.  Was  it  a  woman  ?"  asked  Wingfield. 

"Yes,"  the  clergyman  answered. 

"What  was  the  matter  with  her?"  growled  Walsh 
resentfully. 

"I  suppose  it  was  my  fault,"  Paddock  answered. 
"She  is  a  fine  woman  --but  she  wrasn't  quite  free, 
as  we  look  at  it  in  the  Church." 

"And  of  course  the  Church  couldn't  sacrifice  itself," 
Walsh  grumbled. 

"  It  wasn't  as  easy  as  that,  Mr.  Walsh.  There  were 
three  people  to  consider,  leaving  the  Church  out 
entirely." 

"  Well,  I'm  for  trying  the  monastery,"  said  Wing- 
field.  "It  can  do  no  harm,  and  he  may  resume 
operations  while  we  sit  here  talking  about  it." 

"Mr.  Paddock,"  began  Walsh,  as  his  visitors  rose, 
"do  I  understand  you  to  say  that  a  man  can't  go  to 
the  bad  if  he  works  hard  enough  at  it  ?" 

Walsh  frowned  so  fiercely  that  Paddock  laughed. 

"Oh,  not  so  broad  as  that!  But  there  are  good 
influences  at  work  in  the  world  --you  see  evidences 
of  them  all  around  —  and  they  are  increasing  all  the 
time.  And  they  make  things  harder  for  the  ambitious 
sinner;  he's  engaged  in  a  sort  of  obstacle  race." 

"Um,"  was   Walsh's  only  comment.     He  threw 


382  THE   LORDS   OF 

up  the  window  of  his  cage  that  looked  upon  the 
wintry  street  and  watched  Wingfield  and  the  clergy 
man  picking  their  way  cautiously  through  a  battery 
of  noisy  trucks.  The  porters  and  clerks  saw  his 
bald  pate  hanging  ominously  above  them  in  the  crisp 
air,  but  the  window  closed  with  a  bang  without  the 
usual  malediction.  Walsh  growled  to  himself  for 
a  while  and  then,  seeking  an  outlet  for  his  emotions, 
summoned  a  frightened  little  stenographer  whom 
he  had  threatened  with  dismissal  that  morning  and 
raised  her  wages  two  dollars  a  week. 
[ 

Wayne  Craighill  followed  Paddock  from  the  train 
at  a  station  high  in  the  Virginia  hills.  The  poison 
had  been  steamed  out  of  him,  but  his  mind  was  still 
dull  from  its  latest  punishment.  He  had  been  glad 
in  the  first  hours  of  his  reaction  to  have  Paddock's 
sympathy  and  he  had  agreed  to  leave  town  with  the 
minister  without  quite  comprehending  where  they 
were  going. 

A  buckboard  was  waiting  and  they  were  soon  off, 
threading  their  way  through  the  snowy  hills.  Wayne 
stared  ahead  indifferently,  and  when  they  reached 
a  lonely  stone  house,  perched  high  on  a  rough  crag, 
he  accepted  this  as  their  destination  unquestioningly. 
And  so  he  came  to  the  house  of  the  Brothers  of 
Bethlehem. 

Stoddard  himself  flung  the  door  open  —  a  tall 
man  of  thirty-five,  alert,  quick  of  movement  and 
ready  of  speech.  It  was,  it  seemed,  the  most  natural 
thing  in  the  world  that  Wayne  Craighill  should  be 


HIGH   DECISION  383 

there  —  no  questions  asked,  no  discussion  of  the 
reasons  for  his  coming,  no  time  fixed  for  his  departure, 
no  laying  down  of  rules. 

"  We  want  you  to  make  yourself  perfectly  at  home, 
Mr.  Craighill.  The  walks  are  fairly  well  cleared  in 
the  neighbourhood  and  the  air  is  the  finest  on  earth. 
We  call  this  the  House  of  Peace  —  no  newspapers, 
mail  once  a  week,  and  telegrams  are  almost  unknown. 
We  have  the  place  for  ourselves  and  our  friends  to 
rest  in.  You  will  find  a  schedule  of  the  day's  events 
in  your  room  but  don't  let  the  religious  offices  disturb 
you.  They  go  on  all  the  time  and  it  is  not  in  the 
least  necessary  for  you  to  attend  them.  Please  be 
free  to  do  as  you  like.  You  and  Paddock  are 
St.  John's  boys  —  I'm  one,  too  —  five  years  ahead 
of  you,  though." 

He  led  the  way  to  a  small  bedroom  on  the  second 
floor,  whose  windows  framed  at  the  moment  the 
ruddy  winter  sunset.  The  room  was  severely  simple, 
its  woodwork  white  and  scrupulously  clean,  the 
furniture  limited  to  essentials. 

"The  best  thing  about  the  room  is  the  view," 
observed  Stoddard  and  in  a  moment  he  had  gone, 
for  it  was  the  hour  of  vespers  and  the  brothers  were 
already  assembling  in  the  little  chapel  below. 

Wayne  turned  gloomily  from  the  window. 

"Stung!  Kidnapped  and  smuggled  into  a  monas 
tery!  Well,  Jimmy  Paddock,  you  have  your  nerve! 
It's  all  right  with  me,  but  how  about  that  big  fellow  — 
what  is  he,  the  abbot  ?  —  if  he  knew  what  an  outlaw 
had  got  into  his  joint  he'd  probably  drop  me  into  the 


384  THE   LORDS   OF 

valley  down  there.  Are  you  going  to  leave  me  here 
alone  with  nothing  to  do  but  say  my  prayers  ?" 

"Sorry  I've  got  to  go,  but  I'm  off  to-night." 

"So  you've  brought  me  here  to  lose  me!  How 
long  am  I  in  for?" 

"  You  can  leave  any  time  you  want  to  and  you  can 
do  as  you  please  while  you're  here,  just  as  Stoddard 
told  you." 

"Thank  you,"  mocked  Wayne.  "I'm  going  to 
fool  you  by  staying." 

The  novelty  of  his  situation,  the  strangeness  of 
the  life  of  a  religious  house,  and  the  quiet  good  fellow 
ship  of  the  men  who  gathered  at  the  common  table 
of  the  refectory,  clad  in  their  brown  robes,  interested 
Wayne  in  spite  of  himself.  The  brothers  were  all 
young  graduates  of  American  colleges,  vigorous, 
manly  fellows,  who  did  not  discuss  religion  to 
night,  but  social  and  political  questions  just  then 
before  the  world.  Stoddard  asked  Paddock  for 
an  account  of  his  own  work  at  Ironstead  and  the 
minister  described  the  general  social  conditions  of 
Pittsburg,  throwing  out  questions  to  bring  Wayne 
into  the  talk. 

Wayne's  presence  was  accepted  as  a  matter  of 
course;  no  particular  importance  attached  to  him  as 
a  guest,  and  he  had  not  for  a  long  time  felt  so  wholly 
at  ease  as  among  these  young  priests,  whose  aims 
were  utterly  different  from  any  idea  he  had  ever 
entertained  of  religious  work.  There  were  only  ten 
of  them  and  they  had  assembled  for  a  period  of  rest 
and  discussion  with  their  leader  before  separating 


HIGH   DECISION  385 

to  continue  their  work  in  various  parts  of  the  country 
immediately  after  Christmas.  One  of  the  brothers 
who  particularly  attracted  Wayne  had  been  a  sailor. 
He  had  spent  his  summers  sailing  in  coastwise  ships 
to  earn  his  way  through  college.  Another  had  been 
a  ranchman  in  Colorado  and  was  to  leave  shortly 
for  work  in  Montana.  At  the  end  of  the  meal  as  at 
the  beginning  they  stood  in  their  places  and  recited 
prayers,  making  the  sign  of  the  cross.  All  but  Stod- 
dard,  the  Superior,  went  about  their  affairs  at  once. 
He  asked  his  guests  into  the  library,  a  comfortable 
lounging  room  where  they  continued  the  talk  of 
the  table  until  a  brother  appeared  to  carry  Paddock 
to  the  station. 

Wayne  rode  down  with  them,  returning  to  what 
seemed  to  be  a  deserted  house;  but  as  he  stood 
uncertainly  in  the  hall  he  heard  from  the  little  oratory 
the  deep  voice  of  Stoddard  reciting  compline.  He 
went  to  the  door  and  peered  in  upon  the  brothers 
at  prayer.  The  room  was  quite  dark  and  there 
were  no  lights  for  this  service  on  the  tiny  altar. 
Stoddard's  voice  boomed  through  the  little  chapel; 
the  kneeling  priests  in  the  rough  choir  stalls 
responded  in  the  antiphonals  with  deep,  hearty  voices. 
There  was  nothing  spectacular  or  theatrical  in  the 
scene;  the  setting  was  too  bare  for  this;  and  these 
men,  Wayne  reflected,  were  seriously  commending 
their  souls  to  the  mercy  and  protection  of  a  God  in 
whom  he  did  not  believe.  He  went  out  into  the 
night  and  followed  the  rough  road  that  climbed  far 
ther  into  the  mountains,  pausing  now  and  then,  where 


386  THE   LORDS   OF 

breaks  in  the  woodland  offered  clear,  moonlit  vistas, 
to  gaze  across  the  valley  to  the  hills  beyond. 

In  the  depression  following  his  latest  plunge  into 
the  depths,  while  his  head  ached  and  his  hands  shook, 
a  dark  thought  had  crossed  his  mind  and  it  came 
back  upon  him  now.  A  slip  on  the  edge  of  one  of 
these  iron  crags  and  he  would  crash  into  oblivion, 
and  that  would  be  the  end  of  his  troubles.  If  Pad 
dock  had  lodged  him  here  with  the  idea  that  he 
might  be  won  to  a  belief  in  religion  he  had  made  a 
stupid  blunder.  The  religion  of  emotion  might  in 
certain  circumstances  have  appealed  to  Wayne 
Craighill,  but  the  religion  of  service  as  practised  by 
Stoddard  and  Paddock  struck  him  as  vain  and  futile. 

The  road  followed  a  sharp  defile  and  the  sheer 
depths  below  invited  him.  It  would  be  quite  decent 
of  him  to  free  the  world  of  his  wretched  self,  that  had 
given  him  no  joy  and  that  had  become  a  byword  and 
a  hissing  wherever  his  name  was  known.  He  won 
dered  why  he  had  delayed  so  long.  Life  was  a  prison- 
house  and  the  labour  was  hard;  below,  there  in  the 
snowy  ravine,  lay  peace.  He  stopped  abruptly  by 
a  clump  of  cedars,  clutched  them  and  bent  over  to 
scan  the  depths.  He  could  see  no  bottom,  and  the 
place  was  so  lone  that  they  might  not  find  him  when 
it  was  over.  He  felt  that  he  had  never  before  been 
so  wholly  master  of  himself,  and  the  thought  steadied 
him;  if  he  had  ever  been  sane  it  was  now,  when  he 
was  about  to  take  French  leave  of  a  dreary  and 
unprofitable  world.  The  moon  looked  down  upon 
him  coldly;  the  snow-clad  hills  were  indifferent; 


HIGH   DECISION  387 

the  wind  lay  still,  waiting  for  this  life  to  slip  away  like 
a  pebble  into  the  gorge.  The  place  was  fitting;  he 
chose  his  spot  and  made  ready  for  the  leap. 

Steps  sounded  behind  him  as  of  some  one  walking, 
but  whoever  came  moved  deliberately  along  the 
shoulder  of  the  hill  toward  the  top.  There  was  no 
reason  for  delaying;  ample  time  remained  in  which 
to  step  into  the  gorge  and  be  done  with  it.  Wayne 
clung  stubbornly  to  the  slippery  edge;  but  the 
moments  passed.  The  tall  figure  of  Stoddard,  the 
priest,  drew  nearer,  his  head  bowed  and  his  arms 
folded  under  a  long  cloak.  His  shovel  hat  gave  a 
bizarre  note  to  his  costume.  He  gained  the  crown 
of  the  ridge  and  lifted  his  head. 

"Ah,  you  came  out  to  watch  the  moon  to  bed! 
That,  Mr.  Craighill,  is  my  own  privilege." 

Wayne  stood  doggedly  by  the  ravine  edge.  It  was 
on  his  lips  to  berate  the  priest  for  appearing  at  this 
crucial  moment,  and  Stoddard's  calm  manner 
angered  him. 

"This  is  the  best  view  possible  anywhere  about 
here,"  the  priest  continued.  "You  have  an  eye  for 
landscape,  but  the  wind  is  rising;  let  us  walk  on  into 
the  wood  and  get  away  from  it." 

"Father  Stoddard,  you  have  done  me  an  injury. 
If  I  had  not  heard  your  step  when  I  did  I  should  be 
lying  at  the  bottom  of  the  gap." 

The  reaction  had  been  sudden  and  he  was  all 
unstrung.  His  voice  was  strange  in  his  own  ears. 

"Oh!  You  had  intended  doing  that?  I  really 
can't  believe  it." 


388  THE   LORDS   OF 

"You  might  as  well  believe  it;  it  is  quite  true," 
persisted  Wayne,  irritably. 

"Those  things  do  occur  to  all  of  us  sometimes," 
replied  the  priest  calmly.  "But  in  your  own  case  it 
is  quite  impossible.  I  advise  you  to  dismiss  the 
matter  from  your  mind." 

"I  tell  you  I  was  going  to  do  it;  a  second  more 
and  I  should  have  been  a  dead  man." 

The  priest  readjusted  his  cloak,  throwing  an  end 
over  his  shoulder. 

"Well,  why  don't  you  go  ahead?"  he  remarked 
carelessly.  "I  give  you  my  word  I  shall  never  men 
tion  it.  But  see  —  you  haven't  the  will  to  do  it. 
You  yielded  yourself  for  a  moment  to  the  absurd 
hallucination  that  your  life  was  a  complete  and 
finished  thing,  but  it  is  not;  I  take  it  upon  myself, 
my  dear  Craighill,  to  say  that  it  is  not.  There  are 
many  rough  edges;  the  design  is  incomplete.  You 
will  have  to  wait  a  little,  my  friend.  The  will  of 
God  has  not  had  its  divine  way  with  you  yet." 

"The  will  of  God!"  cried  Wayne,  hardly  knowing 
in  his  anger  that  he  was  following  the  priest  away 
from  the  precipice;  "do  you  think  I  believe  any  of 
that  rot?" 

"Then,  "the  tall  priest  replied,  speaking  brusquely, 
as  was  his  way,  "we  will  say  the  way  of  the  devil,  if 
that  pleases  your  humour  better.  The  devil,  then, 
hasn't  made  a  very  good  job  of  you  yet.  He  has  his 
sense  of  artistic  completeness,  and  he  can  hardly  look 
upon  you  as  one  of  his  chefs  d'oeuvre.  Even  the 
devil  requires  time.  It  doesn't  strike  me  off-hand, 


HIGH   DECISION  389 

from  my  observation  of  his  patterns,  that  he's  made 
much  headway  with  you.  He  would  undoubtedly 
accomplish  more  in  time;  but  you  are  not  ready 
for  his  collection  yet.  Let's  continue  our  walk. 
We  must  have  a  good  many  ideas  in  common.  In 
your  day  at  St.  John's  did  they  afflict  you  with  roast 
veal  every  Thursday?  They  did  in  my  time  and  it 
was  always  a  trial  to  me.  I  remember " 

A  light  way,  indeed,  to  treat  the  heroic  impulse 
of  a  man  ready,  a  moment  before,  to  plunge  into  the 
dark;  but  Paul  Stoddard  was  not  without  his 
wisdom. 

He  wrote  a  note  to  Paddock  that  night  in  which  he 
said:  "Craighill  is  a  good  fellow  and  there  is  hope 
for  him.  He  is  a  man  in  search  of  his  own  soul  and 
he  will  find  it  in  time.  Pray  for  him." 

The  days  passed.  At  the  end  of  a  week  Wayne 
expected  to  leave;  but  the  freedom  and  peace  were 
sweet.  He  was  enjoying  a  luxury  of  unhappiness. 
Christmas  came,  but  it  brought  him  no  joy,  only 
unhappy  memories.  He  kept  clear  of  the  oratory, 
where  the  recitation  of  offices  was  interminable. 
The  priests  were  happy  souls  to  be  able  to  believe 
in  such  things!  Brother  Azarius,  the  sailor,  asked 
him  to  walk  to  the  village  for  the  mail  after  the  mid 
day  meal,  which  was  amplified  into  a  feast  by  gifts 
from  the  farmers  of  the  valley.  A  novel  Christmas 
this,  for  Wayne  Craighill,  dining  with  priests  in  a 
mountain  monastery,  but  they  were  cheerful,  whole 
some  fellows  and  he  liked  their  talk,  which  was  utterly 


390  THE   LORDS   OF 

unaffected  and  interesting.  He  set  out  with  Brother 
Azarius  for  the  village  in  the  valley  soon  after  dinner. 
When  the  mail-bag  was  handed  out  at  the  general 
store  Wayne  felt  a  pang  of  homesickness  —  his  first 
-  at  beholding  this  tie  between  the  quiet  hills  and 
the  throbbing  world  below.  He  had  sent  no  message 
of  any  kind  to  Fanny,  who  had  always  included  him 
in  the  Christmas  celebrations  at  her  house;  she  was 
still  South  when  he  left  and  unless  Wingfield  had 
told  her,  she  did  not  know  his  whereabouts.  He 
wrote  a  telegram  in  the  railway  station  wishing  her 
and  her  household  a  merry  Christmas.  "Don't 
trouble  about  me;  I  am  perfectly  well." 

He  began  a  message  to  his  father,  paused  uncer 
tainly  when  he  had  written  the  address,  and  tore  it  up, 
the  old  resentment  on  fire  again.  He  left  the  station 
but  paused  in  the  highway  and  went  back.  "Best 
wishes  for  a  happy  Christmas,"  he  wrote  to  Jean  at 
her  boarding-house  address.  He  could  not  for  the 
life  of  him  add  a  word  to  this,  though  he  wasted  half 
a  dozen  blanks  in  futile  trials,  while  Brother  Azarius 
tramped  up  and  down  the  station  platform.  Poor 
Wayne!  Too  bad  life  isn't  all  spelled  out  in  the 
nursery  picture  books  that  we  might  know  the  worst 
at  the  beginning  and  be  done  with  it!  It  was  well 
that  Brother  Azarius  had  that  capital  story  of  his 
shipwreck  off  Martinique  up  his  sleeve  for  emergen 
cies  like  this  or  Wayne  might  have  found  the  memory 
of  Jean's  hand  on  his  cheek  too  much  for  him  — 
that  dear,  brave  hand  that  had  known  labour! 

The   brothers   cut   their   own   fuel    and   the   next 


HIGH   DECISION  391 

morning  he  found  an  axe  and  plunged  into  the  snowy 
wood.  The  priests  had  scattered  widely  and  only 
two  remained  at  the  house.  Stoddard  had  gone  West 
to  be  absent  a  month,  but  Wayne  was  beginning  to 
enjoy  his  security  and  isolation. 

By  noon  he  had  blistered  his  hands,  but  he  kept 
manfully  at  work.  In  a  few  days  he  had  developed 
skill  and  viewed  the  increase  in  his  daily  product  with 
satisfaction.  His  bodily  health  had  never  been  so 
good.  At  times  he  was  almost  happy  and  went 
whistling  about  his  work.  This  was  what  Jean  had 
told  him  to  do:  find  labour  with  his  hands.  And 
all  these  days  Jean  was  never  out  of  his  thoughts, 
never  out  of  his  heart. 

So  the  weeks  passed  and  Wayne  lingered  at 
the  House  of  Peace,  taking  long  walks  over  the 
hills;  talking  with  the  brothers,  whose  circle 
changed  frequently;  felling  trees  in  the  snowy 
wood,  and  performing  such  other  manual  labour 
as  offered.  He  saw  the  earliest  vanguard  of  spring 
steal  into  the  hills,  resisted,  flung  back,  but  camp 
ing  at  last  on  the  summits,  smiling  conquerors.  He 
watched  the  swelling  buds  and  bore  proudly  home 
the  first  furtive  arbutus.  His  blood  was  purified,  his 
spirit  lightened  in  the  lustral  air.  He  read  much,  send 
ing  away  for  books  and  periodicals ;  he  wrote  letters 
to  Jean  and  tore  them  up;  he  brooded,  pondered, 
wondered,  and  walked  the  ridges  with  the  stars. 

One  evening,  near  the  end  of  April,  Stoddard,  who 
had  just  returned  after  a  long  absence,  came  into  his 
room. 


392  THE   LORDS   OF 

"I'm  sorry,  Craighill,  but  your  time  is  up.  You 
must  go  home  to-morrow." 

"But  I'm  not  ready  to  leave  yet!  If  you'll  let  me 
go  on  chopping  wood  and  carrying  water  I'd  like  to 
stay.  I'm  a  failure  down  below  there  —  I  don't 
want  to  go  back;  I  can't  go  back." 

"That  is  good;  I'm  glad  you  feel  that  way 
about  it." 

"  I  can't  lie  to  you :  I  don't  believe  in  God.  You've 
done  a  good  deal  for  me  and  I  see  things  better;  but 
I'm  likely  to  stumble  and  fall  again  the  day  I  leave 
here." 

"That  is  quite  likely,  as  you  say,"  said  the  priest. 
"There  may  be  some  further  struggles  and  dif 
ficulties;  you  old  friend  the  devil  isn't  so  easily 
shaken  off;  he  has  the  pride  of  his  craftsmanship, 
as  I  told  you  the  night  you  came.  There  are  some 
men  who,  if  they  asked  to  be  allowed  to  remain 
here  permanently  to  escape  the  dangers  and  tempta 
tions  of  the  world,  I  should  not  refuse.  I  should  feel 
that  wray  in  the  case  of  weaklings,  failures  or  cowards ; 
but  you  are  different,  Craighill.  You  do  not  fall 
within  these  classifications.  The  House  of  Peace 
is  not  for  you;  you've  got  to  go  back  into  the  world 
to  wrestle  with  it,  to  get  under  the  devil's  heels 
perhaps,  but  to  find  your  feet  finally  and  in  time  to 
become  a  man,  honoured,  respected  and  loved  by 
men.  I  am  not  a  prophet,  and  have  no  knowledge 
of  your  future  that  I  don't  read  in  yourself;  but  I  am 
not  alone  in  my  feeling  about  you.  These  members 
of  the  Brotherhood  see  and  feel  it  and  they  are,  you 


HIGH  DECISION  393 

may  say,  experts  in  cases  like  yours.  Without 
trying,  you  have  made  them  like  you.  We  are  all 
your  friends.  You  don't  believe  in  God  —  the  God 
we  preach  —  and  I'm  not  going  to  discuss  that  with 
you.  It  is  barely  possible  that  you  are  incapable  of 
belief;  but  those  things  are  a  good  deal  a  matter  of 
phrases  and  words.  No  two  men  of  our  brotherhood 
have  exactly  the  same  idea  of  the  person  of  God. 
No  two  souls  are  just  alike  any  more  than  the  eyes  of 
two  persons  respond  to  the  same  test.  When  I  read 
I  am  obliged  to  use  a  pair  of  glasses  which  would 
probably  blind  you  utterly  and  it  would  be  absurd 
for  me  to  force  you  to  use  them.  And  it  is  equally 
far  from  my  intention  to  force  my  religious  ideas 
upon  you." 

Wayne  was  silent  for  what  seemed  a  long  time,  for 
he  was  half-ashamed  of  the  question  he  wished  to  ask. 

"How  did  it  happen  that  you  found  me  that  first 
night  when  I  was  actually  at  the  point  of  tumbling 
over  the  cliff  out  yonder?" 

"My  dear  Craighill,  I  wish  you  wouldn't  ask  me 
hard  questions  like  that,"  laughed  the  big  priest. 
"You  may  call  that  chance,  if  you  please.  I  did  not 
follow  you  by  intention,  or  know  as  a  matter  of  fact 
that  you  had  gone  in  that  direction."  Stoddard  was 
silent  for  a  moment;  then  he  laughed  happily.  "You 
don't  believe  in  my  God,  you  tell  me,  but,  my  dear 
fellow,  I  believe  in  yours!" 

Wayne's  hand  shook  as  he  drew  it  across  his  face. 

"Don't  send  me  away  from  here,"  he  pleaded 
huskily. 


394  THE   LORDS   OF 

"This  isn't  the  place  for  you,  my  brother,  my 
friend.  The  world  isn't  wholly  bad  —  not  by  any 
means  —  you  must  go  back  to  it,"  said  Stoddard 
kindly.  "  If  you  feel  at  any  time  that  I  can  help  you, 
send  for  me ;  the  doors  of  this  house  are  open  to  you 
day  and  night.  We  are  often  widely  scattered  — 
only  one  brother  remains  here  always  and  you  can 
come  at  any  time  without  notice.  But  to-morrow 
you  must  go  back  and  take  your  place  in  the  ranks 
of  the  fighting  men." 

The  priest  rose.  For  a  moment  he  rested  his  hands 
lightly  on  Wayne's  shoulders. 

"Good  night.     God  bless  you,  Wayne  Craighill." 

Wayne  returned  immediately  to  Pittsburg  and  to 
his  father's  house.  Mrs.  Blair,  to  whom  he  reported 
promptly  by  telephone,  greeted  him  in  her  usual 
excited  fashion,  but,  having  been  charged  by  Wing- 
field,  through  her  husband,  not  to  force  Wayne  to 
discuss  his  banishment,  she  was  obliged  to  forego 
the  pleasure  of  acquainting  herself  with  her  brother's 
experience  of  the  monastic  life.  His  Christmas 
gifts  from  her  house  were  still  piled  on  his  dressing- 
table  where  he  found  also  the  haberdashery  his 
father  always  bestowed  upon  him;  and  there  was  a 
book  inscribed  "Addie  to  Wayne,  Christmas,  1907." 
His  father  greeted  him  with  that  urbane  tolerance 
with  which  Wayne  had  long  been  familiar.  The 
prodigal's  place  at  the  table  was  waiting,  and  no 
painful  questions  were  asked  as  to  the  cause  of  his 
absence.  Mrs.  Craighill  showed  her  brightest  face, 


HIGH   DECISION  395 

and  no  chance  visitor  would  have  known  that  the 
son  of  the  house  had  last  appeared  in  it  on  the  eve 
of  a  prolonged  spree.  There  was  no  exchange  of 
confidences,  no  confessions,  no  exhortations  behind 
closed  doors.  Colonel  Craighill  talked  of  social 
affairs  and  of  the  events  of  the  new  year,  and  Wayne 
added  a  word  now  and  then  when  Addie's  eyes 
beseeched  his.  He  was  sorry  for  Addie,  who  did  not 
know  or  care  what  progress  was  making  in  disarma 
ment  or  whether  the  African  slave  traffic  had  really 
been  abolished. 

The  ways  that  had  known  Wayne  knew  him  again. 
He  returned  to  the  office,  where  little  had  changed; 
he  met  Wingfield  at  the  Club  and  learned  all  the 
gossip  of  the  city.  Walsh,  in  his  glass  cage,  discussed 
the  profits  of  the  mercantile  company,  and  brought 
Wayne  to  date  as  to  the  financial  situation,  over 
which  he  growled  characteristically.  He  answered 
Wayne's  questions  as  to  Colonel  CraighilPs  affairs 
guardedly,  but  from  his  manner  Wayne  assumed  the 
worst.  Walsh  was  reluctant  to  discuss  these  matters, 
but  he  proposed,  in  his  usual  blunt  fashion,  that 
Wayne  join  him  in  the  management  of  the  mercantile 
company. 

"I've  got  too  much  to  do  down  here.  You  can 
name  your  own  salary,  and  create  your  own  job. 
We  can  double  the  territory  we  work  now  and  it 
would  be  a  big  help  to  me  to  have  you.  You've 
got  your  oats  sowed  now  and  when  I  curl  up  with 
apoplexy  some  day  you  will  be  ready  to  continue  the 
business  at  the  old  stand." 


396  THE   LORDS  OF  HIGH   DECISION 

Wayne,  touched  by  the  old  fellow's  generosity, 
asked  a  day  or  two  to  think  it  over. 

From  Paddock,  who  called  on  him  at  the  Craighill 
offices,  Wayne  learned  that  Joe  had  recovered  and 
had  found  employment  with  a  sporting  goods  house; 
but  he  asked  no  questions  and  Jean's  name  was  not 
spoken. 

It  was  finally  agreed  that  on  the  first  of  May  Wayne 
should  assume  an  active  part  in  the  management  of 
the  mercantile  company;  but  Wayne's  life  was  not 
so  easily  to  be  brought]  to  tranquil  waters,  as  we 
shall  see. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

WAYNE  SEES  JEAN  AGAIN 

RICHARDSON,  the  distinguished  editor  of  that 
admirable  magazine,  the  Hemisphere,  was  a 
guest  of  the  Allequippa  Club,  and  Wingfield  exercised 
the  right  of  an  old  friend  to  demand  the  reason  for 
his  descent  upon  Pittsburg.  The  editor  led  the  way 
to  his  room  and  produced  a  portfolio  of  pen  and  ink 
and  water-colour  sketches  of  children.  These  he 
disposed  about  his  room  and  invited  Wingfield's 
admiration.  There  was  undoubtedly  genius  in  the 
things;  the  key  of  pathos  and  humour  was  struck 
with  a  true,  firm  touch.  Most  interesting  of  all,  there 
were  babies  —  a  group  of  them  —  types  of  half  a 
dozen  races. 

"  We  cried  over  that  bunch  at  the  office.  We  don't 
find  the  real  thing  every  day  and  when  it  comes  it's 
always  out  of  the  dark.  It's  a  woman  and  she  lives 
here.  I  suppose  you  never  by  any  chance  heard 
of  her." 

Wingfield  had  already  taken  off  his  glasses  to 
read  the  name  scrawled  at  the  bottom  of  one  of 
the  drawings  --a  newsboy  with  an  infectious  grin 
on  his  face. 

"Jean  Morley,"  Wingfield  read  aloud.  "Oh, 
certainly  I  know  her.  It's  really  most  remarkable 

397 


398  THE   LORDS   OF 

that  you  should  have  recognized  her  talent.  I  sup 
pose  you  have  come  here  to  offer  her  a  dollar  apiece  for 
her  sketches  —  I  advise  you  not  to  lay  yourself  open 
to  the  humiliation  of  her  scornful  rejection  of  your 
offer.  The  girl  is  wonderful  —  wonderful !  Any 
thing  less  than  a  thousand  dollars  for  what  you  have 
here  would  be  preposterous;  I  would  give  her 
more  myself  and  hold  the  drawings  as  an  investment. 
And  I  happen  to  know  that  This  Busy  World  has 
already  offered  to  make  a  contract  with  her  covering 
a  term  of  years,"  he  added  carelessly,  readjusting 
his  glasses. 

Wingfield  would  not  have  lied  to  a  stranger,  but 
he  had  known  Richardson  all  his  life;  and  besides, 
Jean  was  a  pretty  girl  and  Dick  Wingfield's  soul  was 
not  brass.  The  situation  was  much  to  his  liking. 
Richardson  was  a  man  of  distinction,  a  poet  and 
essayist  of  high  attainments,  and  as  such  Wingfield 
would  take  good  care  of  him  for  the  honour  of  Pitts- 
burg.  He  was  already  wondering  whether  his 
mother  would  undertake  a  dinner  in  Richardson's 
honour,  with  two  or  three  girls  he  knew,  and  with 
Jean  present  —  the  surprise  of  the  occasion.  It 
was  not  an  opportunity  to  miss.  He  had  planned 
the  dinner  before  Richardson  had  ceased  praising 
the  drawings. 

"I  would  appreciate  it  if  you  would  help  me  find 
the  girl.  I'm  in  a  hurry;  we  want  her  to  illustrate 
a  series  of  articles  we've  got  in  type  -  '  The  Child  as 
a  Wage-earner.'  These  drawings  strayed  into  the 
office  just  as  we  were  discussing  illustrators  and  she's 


HIGH   DECISION  399 

first  choice.  The  matter  is  urgent.  I  must  find  out  if 
she  will  undertake  it  and  get  out  of  here  to-morrow." 

The  larger  prospect  faded;  but  Wingneld  called 
Mrs.  Blair  by  telephone  and  the  Lady  of  Difficult 
Occasions  rose  as  he  knew  she  would.  The  editor  of 
the  Hemisphere  was  a  celebrity,  Jean  was  her  own 
protegee;  there  was  every  reason  why  Mrs.  Blair 
should  bring  them  together  at  her  own  board,  and 
Wingfield  was  to  be  of  the  party  —  he  did  not  have 
to  suggest  it.  Whether  Wayne  should  be  included 
was  a  question  Wingfield  left  to  Mrs.  Blair  and  she 
deemed  it  best  that  Wayne  and  Jean  should  not  meet. 
For  while  Wayne  was  wrestling  with  his  spirit  in  the 
hills,  Mrs.  Blair  and  Jean  had  seen  much  of  each 
other  and  Jean  had  told  her  friend  the  whole  story 
of  her  acquaintance  with  Wayne,  and  her  belief  that 
she  was  still  bound  to  Joe.  Here  was  a  complication 
that  gave  even  Fanny  Blair  pause! 

She  hurried  Jean  to  a  shop  to  find  a  ready-made 
gown  for  the  occasion  and  otherwise  exercised  the 
right  of  guardianship.  As  Fanny  Blair's  last  girl 
fiddler  had  eloped  with  a  cornetist  who  already  had 
a  wife  or  two,  her  faith  in  budding  genius  needed  this 
restoration. 

"But  Lord  bless  you,  I  don't  know  Mrs.  Blair," 
cried  the  editor  when  Wingfield  told  him  that  they 
were  to  meet  the  artist  at  the  Blair  house. 

"That's  nothing.  You  are  ignorant  by  so  much, 
that's  all,  and  Mrs.  John  McCandless  Blair  is  a 
liberal  education  —  a  post-graduate  course,  in  fact. 
It  would  be  impossible  for  MissJVlorley  to  negotiate 


400  THE   LORDS   OF 

with  you  without  her.  And  I  myself  have  taken  the 
deepest  interest  in  the  girl  from  the  beginning.  The 
prettiest  girl  in  Pennsylvania  —  and  I  am  not  ignorant 
of  the  processions  of  beauty  you  can  see  in  Phila 
delphia  on  Saturdays  at  high  noon,  if  you  have  an 
excuse  for  being  in  Chestnut  Street  as  the  divinities 
seek  lobster  and  ice  cream  at  Vertini's." 

Mrs.  Blair  wept  —  it  was  her  way  —  when  Jean's 
drawings  were  displayed  in  her  library ;  those  sketches 
did  have  heart  in  them!  The  editor  of  the  Hemi 
sphere  was  less  emotional,  but  his  praise  of  Jean's 
work  was  ample.  He  explained  the  character  and 
scope  of  the  text  to  be  illustrated.  Jean  would  have 
to  visit  the  South  and  West  to  find  the  types  needed, 
and  it  would  be  necessary  to  begin  at  once.  After 
dinner  the  editor  and  Jean  discussed  details,  with 
proof  sheets  of  the  articles  before  them.  They  were 
bound  to  make  an  impression;  they  were  the  work 
of  specialists,  and  comprised  a  careful  economic  and 
social  study  of  child  labour  and  were  to  be  embodied 
in  a  book  following  their  use  in  the  periodical;  the 
commission  was  important  to  the  artist  and  all  con 
cerned.  The  editor  had  prepared  a  schedule  of  the 
drawings  he  thought  most  desirable,  with  a  memor 
andum  of  the  times  at  which  they  must  be  delivered. 
The  amount  named  for  the  work  was  generous; 
Wingfield,  graceful  liar  that  he  could  be,  had  helped 
here,  and  after  Jean  had  taken  counsel  of  Mrs.  Blair 
in  a  corner,  a  contract  was  signed  —  Jean's  hand  a 
little  wobbly  for  one  who  could  draw  so  well. 

Mrs.    Blair's    instructions    that    no    one    should 


HIGH   DECISION  401 

be  admitted  that  evening  were  conclusive  enough  as 
against  the  world  in  general ;  but  her  door  was  never 
shut  in  her  brother's  face.  Wayne,  having  missed 
Walsh,  had  dined  alone  at  the  Club  and  afterward 
sought  Wingfield  vainly  by  telephone.  He  was 
restless  and  unhappy  and  set  out  for  his  sister's 
merely  to  have  something  to  do.  That  he  and  Jean 
should  be  in  the  same  town  and  not  see  each  other 
struck  him  as  the  bitterest  irony.  He  missed  the 
peace  of  the  mountains  and  the  daily  discipline  of 
his  wood-chopping. 

It  was  in  this  humour  that  he  came  upon  the  ani 
mated  scene  at  his  sister's  that  had  Jean  for  its 
central  figure  —  a  new  Jean,  with  the  happiness  of 
renewed  youth  bright  in  her  countenance.  She  had 
seen  him  before  he  made  her  out  from  the  doorway, 
and  she  prepared  herself  for  the  meeting  while  he 
was  making  the  editor's  acquaintance.  She  had 
wondered  all  these  long  days  since  she  had  watched 
him  from  the  window  of  the  boarding-house  parlour 
how  it  would  be  if  they  ever  met  again ;  but  she  had 
not  expected  anything  like  this.  The  most  her 
imagination  had  conjured  had  been  a  chance  meeting 
in  the  street. 

Wayne  was  taken  into  the  great  secret  by  Mrs. 
Blair  and  ran  his  eyes  over  the  drawings  before  he 
spoke  to  Jean. 

"It's  splendid,  perfectly  splendid!"  he  cried,  but 
Mrs.  Blair  got  him  away  for  the  time  being.  Her 
father's  business  affairs  had  given  her  great  concern 
and  she  seized  the  moment  to  attack  Wayne  in  regard 


402  THE   LORDS   OF 

to  them.  But  Wayne  was  not  to  be  disposed  of  so 
easily;  his  eyes  followed  Jean,  and  when  she  laughed 
at  some  of  Wingfield's  banter  he  stopped  abruptly 
in  his  answer  to  one  of  Mrs.  Blair's  questions  and  the 
look  in  his  eyes  told  the  story,  and  would  have  told 
it  to  a  less  observing  woman  than  Fanny  Blair.  She 
sighed  as  he  rose  and  moved  across  the  room  to  where 
Jean  sat  turning  in  her  hands  her  copy  of  the  editor's 
contract.  It  would  hurt  nothing  this  once  —  so 
Mrs.  Blair  suffered  him  to  talk  to  her. 

"I've  been  away,"  he  began,  "and  a  great  deal 
seems  to  be  happening;   here  you  are  at  the  point  of 
being  famous.     I  always  felt  that  it  would  come  - 
that  you  would  make  good,  and  you  have  rung  the 
bell  at  the  first  shot." 

"But  it  wasn't  the  first.  I  had  sent  portfolios  of 
drawings  to  a  lot  of  publishers  and  editors  who 
didn't  care  for  them  at  all.  And  of  course,  Mr. 
Richardson  was  only  interested  because  he  hap 
pened  to  be  looking  for  that  kind  of  thing." 

'  There  are  other  artists  doing  that  sort  of  work  — 
good  ones  —  of  established  reputation  —  and  the 
Hemisphere  prefers  you.  You  can't  get  away  from 
that." 

"  Well,  it's  nice,  anyhow.  And  now  I  must  do  the 
work;  it  will  keep  me  very  busy,  if  I  finish  in  time." 

"You  will  do  it  and  it  will  be  a  success;  there  is  no 
doubt  of  that.  And  we  shall  all  be  proud  of  you. 
It's  something  to  know  a  genius  these  days." 

This  success  would,  he  knew,  raise  higher  the 
barriers  between  them,  and  he  was  jealous  of  her 


HIGH   DECISION  403 

art  as  he  had  not  been  of  Joe.  Her  work  meant  more 
to  her  than  Joe  had  meant  or  could  mean.  It  was 
preposterous  that  this  woman  should  bear  the  burden 
of  an  obligation  to  a  man  like  Joe  Denny.  Her  new 
gown  clothed  her  in  a  fresh  vesture  of  youth.  She 
was  no  longer  the  obscure,  forlorn  and  shabby  art 
student,  but  a  young  woman  whose  name  would 
go  far  and  whose  eyes  were  bright  with  the  elixir  of 
success  —  that  most  potent  of  cordials.  He  wrondered 
whether  he  should  see  again  the  gray  mist  of  the  sea 
steal  across  the  lovely  violet  of  her  eyes;  and  upon 
the  thought  the  soft  shadow  fell  and  the  sweet 
gravity  that  became  her  so  well  came  into  her  face. 
The  change  seemed  to  bring  her  back  to  him;  and 
he  grasped  at  the  fleeting  mood  eagerly. 

"I  have  seen  things  differently  since  I  saw  you 
last,"  he  began,  and  all  unconsciously  her  head  bowed 
as  though  under  the  weight  of  remembrance.  "I 
let  go  of  myself  again  —  it  was  hideous ;  you  heard 
of  it?" 

"Yes,  I  knewT.     I  was  sorry." 

"But  Paddock  took  me  away  to  the  house  of  some 
friends  of  his;  they  were  good  to  me.  I  sent  you  a 
telegram  Christmas  —  I  wonder  if  you  got  it?" 

"Yes;   and  I  was  glad  you  remembered  me." 

She  did  not  tell  him  that  she  had  cried  over  it  in 
her  dingy  room  or  that  at  Paddock's  settlement  house, 
where  she  had  gone  to  help  in  the  children's  enter 
tainment,  she  had  learned  from  the  minister  where 
he  was,  or  that  the  knowledge  that  he  was  in  a  place 
of  safety  had  been  the  real  peace  of  her  Christmas. 


404  THE   LORDS   OF 

"It  was  a  lonely  place  up  there  in  the  mountains 
and  the  first  night  - 

He  had  felt  that  he  must  tell  her  everything,  but 
he  could  not  do  it;  he  could  not  confess  how  narrowly 
he  had  escaped  taking  himself  out  of  life  by  the  back 
door.  Her  own  fine  courage,  the  success  now  crown 
ing  her  endeavour  —  these  things  taunted  him ;  he 
could  not  tell  her  how  near  he  had  been  to  throwing 
down  his  sword  in  the  face  of  the  enemy.  With 
courage,  sincerity  and  industry  she  was  storming 
the  citadels  of  a  world  that  had  heaped  favours 
upon  him  only  to  magnify  the  humiliation  of  his 
failures.  He  must  speak  with  confidence  of  his 
to-morrows  to  this  woman  if  he  would  hold  her 
respect. 

"I'm  going  to  try  harder.  I  guess  I've  never  tried 
at  all.  I've  got  a  job:  Walsh  is  going  to  take  me 
into  his  office;  you've  seen  him,  he's  a  grand  old 
fellow.  While  you  are  off  making  your  drawings  I 
shall  be  trying  to  learn  how  to  sell  groceries.  Isn't 
that  most  uninteresting?" 

She  bent  toward  him  eagerly. 

"  Oh,  no,  it  is  fine!  It  is  just  the  right  thing.  I  am 
glad  —  so  glad!" 

His  heart  bounded  as  he  saw  how  pleased  she  was 
—  no  cloud  now  on  those  violet  seas;  and  she  smiled 
that  quick  rare  smile  of  hers. 

"Please  don't  grow  too  famous  to  remember  a 
poor  struggling  jobber  in  canned  goods  and  such. 
You  see,  you've  rather  put  it  up  to  me  to  do  some 
thing.  I  shan't  get  very  high  —  I  couldn't  —  but 


HIGH   DECISION  405 

I'm  going  to  do  the  best  I  cjm.  A  man  I  met  up  there 
in  the  hills  —  a  minister  —  a  priest,  he  would  call 
himself,  made  me  feel  my  lack  of  importance  in  the 
world  in  a  new  way.  He  said  he  thought  the  devil 
wouldn't  care  for  my  soul  —  that  I  was  a  clumsy  piece 
of  Satan's  practice-work,  not  worth  putting  on  exhibi 
tion  in  the  hall  of  fame  down  below.  That  took  the 
conceit  out  of  me;  I  had  imagined  myself  a  superior 
article." 

"Well,  when  you're  at  work  you  won't  have  time 
to  think  of  such  things,"  she  answered,  not  sanction 
ing  his  way  of  joking  about  it. 

"But  I  shall  think  of  you  every  day,  and  I  shall 
wonder  where  you  are  and  how  your  work  prospers; 
and  sometimes  I  shall  see  you 

"We  shall  always  be  good  friends,  of  course." 

But  he  would  not  take  warning  of  her  words  or  her 
manner;  this  new  career  was  drawing  her  away 
from  him  and  the  thought  of  losing  her  was  intol 
erable. 

"If  you  haven't  taken  that  step,  if  you  are  still  free, 
won't  you  give  me  my  chance?" 

"No,  no!  Please  don't  spoil  this  evening  for  me; 
I  know  you  don't  mean  to  be  unkind  —  but  you  are! " 

"But  why  should  you  throw  away  your  freedom; 
you  owe  something  to  yourself!"  he  pleaded.  "See 
what  has  come  to  you;  think  of  what  you  would  lose 
if  you  let  this  imagined  duty  to  Joe  interfere  with 
your  success." 

"I  made  up  my  mind  that  night  when  I  told  you 
my  story;  and  I  shall  not  change  it.  Poor  Joe!  I 


406  THE   LORDS   OF 

had  hurt  him  so  that  he  doesn't  want  to  take  me 
back  —  but  the  tie  exists.  Nothing  you  could  say 
would  ever  change  my  feeling  about  it." 

The  lines  of  his  face  hardened  and  his  jaw  set. 
Having,  like  a  child,  resolved  to  be  "good,"  he  saw 
no  reason  why  he  should  not  at  once  pluck  the  stars 
for  his  reward.  The  penitent  is  never  so  humble 
but  that  he  demands  immediate  share  in  paradisiacal 


'You  will  be  leaving  at  once.  I  suppose  I  shall 
not  see  you  again,"  he  remarked,  the  dejection  show 
ing  in  his  face. 

"Yes;  I  shall  be  going  in  a  day  or  two,  but  I  shan't 
forget  you.  You  are  one  of  my  friends;  we  mustn't 
let  anything  spoil  that." 

Mrs.  Blair's  eyes  were  upon  her  and  she  rose. 
Richardson  and  Wingfield  were  leaving,  and  the 
editor  had  some  last  words  for  Jean.  Mr.  Blair 
was  to  take  the  men  down  in  his  car  and  Jean  left 
with  them,  wrapped  —  for  the  good  woman  would 
not  be  denied  —  in  Mrs.  Blair's  ermine  opera  cloak. 

Wayne  was  pacing  the  floor,  smoking,  when  Mrs. 
Blair  came  back  from  seeing  Jean  off.  She  threw 
her  arms  about  her  brother  impulsively. 

"  Oh,  Wayne;  there  are  not  many  women  like  that! 
I  always  wondered  if  you  would  ever  really  care,  and 
what  she  would  be  like;  and  now  this  —  this  -  !" 

He  was  not  surprised  that  she  knew  it  all;  Fanny 
always  knew  everything. 

"And  to  think  that  wThen  she  offered  to  go  back 
to  that  vagabond  Joe,  he  wouldn't  have  it  that  way 


HIGH  DECISION  407 

—  wouldn't  listen  to  it!  And  here  she  is  left  high 
and  dry  with  her  preposterous  conscience;  it's  that 
wretched  Jimmy  Paddock  that's  responsible.  I 
didn't  suppose  I  could  ever  feel  that  divorce  is  right 
in  any  case;  but  here  were  two  silly  young  children 
eloping.  And  a  girl  with  this  beautiful  genius  in 
her,  seeing  the  awfulness  of  what  she  had  done, 
fled  from  it.  If  Joe  hadn't  nearly  died  of  pneumonia 
and  if  Jimmy  Paddock  hadn't  convinced  her  that 
marriages  are  made  in  heaven  and  that  the  courts 
of  Pennsylvania  haven't  any  jurisdiction  over  them 
-well?"  she  concluded  irrelevantly. 

"Nothing,  Fanny;  only  the  spectacle  of  the  Penn 
sylvania  courts  assuming  jurisdiction  of  the  heavenly 
kingdom  tickles  me.  I'm  sorry  that  I  can't  talk 
about  Jean  —  not  now.  It's  great  that  she's  struck 
it,  and  that  must  be  enough  for  me,  I  guess.  Good 
night;  I'm  going  to  walk  home." 


AN    ANGRY    ENCOUNTER 

I'M  LEAVING  the  office  on  the  first;  I'm  going 
down  to  the  mercantile  company  with  Walsh." 

This  was  the  first  intimation  Wayne  had  given 
his  father  of  the  proposed  change.  He  had  pur 
posely  waited  until  this  last  hour  before  making  the 
announcement,  to  avoid  discussing  the  matter. 
Colonel  Craighill  looked  up  from  his  desk  quickly 
and  compressed  his  lips  before  speaking.  It  was 
a  blow  he  had  not  expected  and  he  did  not  meet  it 
at  once.  Wayne  turned  uneasily  and  as  his  father 
made  no  response  he  added: 

'You  remember  that  I  kept  my  interest  there  and 
Tom  says  I  can  be  of  use  to  him.  I  am  of  no  use 
here  —  and  never  have  been." 

"In  other  words,  you  prefer  Walsh  to  me  as  an 
ally.  Very  well,  I  might  have  expected  it.  This  is 
the  last  irony  of  my  parenthood  and  it  is  quite 
fitting;  quite  in  keeping." 

In  the  silence  following  the  announcement  Wayne's 
heart  had  been  tenderer  toward  his  father  than  in 
many  a  day.  It  was  not  so  easy  after  all  to  leave 
him;  at  a  word  he  might  have  relented;  but  the 
swords  of  resentment  unsheathed  with  a  sharp 
clatter  and  his  spirit  declared  war. 

408 


THE   LORDS   OF   HIGH   DECISION    409 

" What's  quite  fitting;  what's  in  keeping?"  he 
demanded. 

'Your  desertion,  your  apostasy.  After  these 
years  of  humiliation  you  have  brought  me,  you 
throw  me  off  as  lightly  as  though  you  were  a  clerk 
who  had  worked  here  a  week  and  left  to  take  another 
job.  But  it's  what  I  deserve  for  my  forbearance. 
It's  too  bad  you  didn't  go  sooner.  But  it's  quite 
characteristic  that  you  should  wait  till  there  was  a 
chance  of  your  being  of  some  service  to  me,  as  age 
comes  on  and  a  son's  right  arm  would  mean  much 
—  you  wait  for  a  strategic  moment  and  then  fire 
your  last  volley  and  leave.  No  servant  ever  served 
me  so  ill.  But  I  deserve  it;  go  to  Walsh;  very 
likely  you  and  he  will  find  yourselves  well  suited 
to  each  other." 

"Walsh  did  your  work  for  you  for  twenty  years; 
it's  rather  base  of  you  to  visit  your  contempt  on  him 
now.  If  you  don't  know  it,  every  man  in  Pittsburg 
knows  what  Tom  Walsh  was  to  you  —  he  was  your 
brains." 

Colonel  Craighill  jumped  to  his  feet,  the  blood 
suffusing  his  face. 

:'You  ungrateful  dog  —  the  reason  I  dispensed 
with  Walsh  was  that  he's  crooked  -  -  he's  a  man  of 
no  principles,  he's  a  rascal!" 

"But  it  took  you  twenty  years  to  find  it  out - 
twenty   years    of   faithful    service   and   you   gave    a 
farewell  dinner  to  a  rascal,  your  rascal,  and  bade 
him  God-speed." 

"I  didn't  know  then  what  he  was!"  roared  Colonel 


410  THE   LORDS   OF 

Craighill,  "but  I  have  learned  since.  He  lied  about 
the  mercantile  company  to  get  it  away  from  me. 
He  falsified  the  statements  and  I  sold  to  him  on 
an  inventory  he  made  himself.  No  doubt  you  were 
in  collusion  with  him  and  now  you're  to  be  paid 
for  robbing  your  father.  It's  all  of  a  piece;  it's 
what  I  have  trained  you  for  and  my  reward  for 
shielding  you  and  bearing  with  you  all  these  years." 

"For  your  prayers,  your  hypocritical  snivelling, 
for  wearing  the  martyr's  crown  because  you  had  the 
ill  luck  to  be  my  father!  Every  time  I  got  drunk 
you  re-sanctified  yourself;  you  were  glad  when  I  went 
bad  because  it  brought  your  own  virtue  into  higher 
relief.  You  never  met  me  like  a  man,  because  you're 
only  the  outer  shell  of  a  man;  there's  no  heart  in 
you;  no  soul  in  you!  And  don't  be  too  sure  you 
deceive  the  people  of  this  town;  they  know  you  and 
just  now  they're  sneering  because  they  know  you've 
been  in  trouble  and  they're  glad  to  find  that  anything 
as  perfect  as  you  are  has  clay  feet.  Walsh  never 
said  a  word  of  ill  to  me  of  you;  he  served  you  with 
the  humility  you  demanded  and  the  best  things 
you  ever  did  he  managed  and  you  got  the  glory. 
And  he  left  you  because  you  wanted  to  sail  out  into 
showy  schemes  like  that  Mexican  fake  and  he  knew 
where  they  would  land  you.  The  finest  testimony 
of  your  high  character  is  poor  old  Gregory  who 
trusted  you  —  trusted  you  like  a  child  because  you 
were  the  great  Roger  Craighill  who  could  do  no 
wrong;  and  when  you  had  got  that  Sand  Creek 
deal  through  you  didn't  know  him  any  more,  but 


HIGH   DECISION  411 

turned  him  over  to  your  lawyer.  And  he's  sitting 
out  there  now  in  the  reception  room  waiting  for 
you  to  see  him;  he's  been  trying  to  see  you  all  winter, 
but  you  won't  let  him  in.  And  Addie,  poor  Addie 
up  there  at  the  house,  you  deceived  her,  too,  for  she 
thought  she  was  marrying  a  man;  and  the  night 
you  went  to  Boston  without  her  because  you  were 
afraid  to  spring  her  on  the  Brodericks,  she  found 
you  out." 

"I  should  strike  you  down  for  this  —  for  speaking 
to  me  of  my  wife  in  such  infamous  terms.  The 
fact  [that  you  assume  the  role  of  her  champion 
is  an  insult  to  her  —  a  flagrant,  unpardonable 
insult!" 

"It's  you  that  insulted  her;  you  were  ashamed 
of  her;  men  treat  their  mistresses  better  than  that! 
She  deserved  better  of  the  great  Roger  Craighill." 

Suspicion  and  distrust  were  warmed  in  the  fierce 
flames  of  Roger  Craighill's  anger. 

"Why  are  you  so  eager  to  champion  her?  How 
dare  you  speak  of  her?" 

"I'm  sorry  for  her,  that's  the  reason;  more  than 
that,  I  knew  her  before  you  did  —  a  poor  girl  with 
a  hideous  mother  tied  about  her  neck,  and  she 
married  you  in  the  mistaken  belief  that  you  would 
honour  and  respect  her,  and  when  your  passion 
cooled  a  little  you  began  to  treat  her  just  as  you  have 
treated  me  —  as  an  encumbrance  to  be  borne  and 
suffered.  And  don't  you  believe,  because  I  never 
told  you  I  had  known  her,  that  she's  not  a  good 
woman  —  she's  so  superior  to  you  that  you  are  not 


412  THE   LORDS   OF 

worthy  to  fasten  her  shoes  —  that's  what  I  think 
of  her  —  and  this  is  what  I  think  of  you." 

The  door  slammed  upon  Wayne  as  he  returned 
for  the  last  time  to  his  own  room,  and  began  collect 
ing  the  papers  in  his  desk.  He  had  burned  his 
bridges  and  there  wTas  no  retracing  his  steps.  His 
heart  was  still  hot;  he  experienced  no  contrition, 
though  he  regretted  immediately  his  reference  to 
Addie,  which  could  only  react  upon  her.  But 
in  the  main  he  was  satisfied  that  he  had  settled 
accounts  with  his  father  at  last. 

The  door  was  closed  between  Roger  Craighill 
and  his  son,  blown  shut  by  the  winds  of  wrath. 
Colonel  Craighill  sat  staring  at  the  wall  that  separated 
them.  These  last  weeks  had  tried  him  sorely  and 
his  head  sank  upon  his  breast  and  he  remained  there 
late,  pondering  his  affairs.  The  stringency  of  the 
fall  and  winter  had  pinched  hard;  his  own  buoyant 
optimism  had  been  badly  shattered  by  it.  The 
control  of  the  towering  Craighill  building  had 
passed  from  the  Colonel's  hands.  When  the  banks 
demanded  additional  collateral  on  loans  that  had 
been  carried  easily  for  several  years  he  found  that 
the  securities  in  a  number  of  his  enterprises  were 
looked  upon  coldly  by  discount  boards.  Even 
the  Hercules  National,  in  which  he  had  been  a 
director  since  its  organization  and  which  had  always 
readily  accommodated  him,  called  his  loans  on  a 
hint,  it  was  said,  from  the  comptroller's  office.  It 
was  trying  to  Colonel  Craighill's  pride  to  be  sum 
moned  to  the  private  rooms  of  banks  to  discuss  his 


HIGH  DECISION  413 

own  affairs  with  men  who  had  suddenly  ceased  to 
be  admiring  friends  and  were  now  gravely  inquisi 
torial.  They  did  their  best  for  him,  though;  even 
his  bonds  and  stock  in  the  Craighill  building  corpora 
tion  were  "deposited"  -that  was  the  disingenuous 
term  —  with  three  trustees  for  the  benefit  of  creditors 
and  this  was  a  salve  to  his  wounded  vanity.  With  a 
breathing  time  and  the  return  of  confidence  Colonel 
Craighill  declared  he  would  reclaim  them.  His 
faith  in  the  great  Mexican  plantation  scheme  was 
unshaken,  and  his  colonial  investments  would  yet 
prove  his  wisdom.  He  begged  his  inquisitors,  in 
their  austere  mahogany  cabinets,  to  have  patience 
and  all  would  be  well;  values  were  intact;  credit 
only  had  been  stampeded;  and  he  cited  world  con 
ditions  with  his  accustomed  familiarity,  which, 
however,  did  not  relieve  the  immediate  pressing 
fact  that  he  owed  a  large  sum  of  money  which  he 
could  not  pay. 

An  unexpected  attack  in  another  quarter  had  dis 
turbed  him  greatly;  and  oddly  enough  it  was  the 
Reverend  James  Paddock  of  the  parish  house  at 
Ironstead  who  had  fired  an  arrow  into  the  weakest 
plate  of  Colonel  Craighill's  armour.  The  minister 
had  written  a  letter  to  the  authorities  directing 
attention  to  the  vile  condition  of  a  group  of  tenements 
in  Ironstead,  not  knowing  who  owned  them,  and  it 
happened  that  one  of  the  objectionable  buildings 
belonged  to  Colonel  Craighill.  The  Mail,  a  vigorous 
young  independent  newspaper,  made  the  most  of 
this  opportunity  in  its  reddest  ink.  The  fact  that 


414  THE   LORDS   OF 

this  leading  citizen,  well  known  for  his  labours  in 
behalf  of  the  negroes  in  the  South  and  for  other 
notable  philanthropies  far  removed  from  Pittsburg, 
should  thus  ignore  the  squalor  at  his  own  door, 
aroused  the  Mail's  righteous  indignation,  and  it 
demanded  an  investigation  by  the  local  branch  of  the 
Municipal  Service  League,  of  which  Colonel  Craig- 
hill  was  the  national  president.  "Colonel  Craighill" 
-  to  quote  the  Mail  -  "  is  an  excellent  type  of  the 
after-dinner  reformer,  posing  in  the  lime-light  abroad, 
but  avoiding  the  discomforts  that  attend  sincere, 
vigorous  participation  in  home  affairs.  It  is  not 
our  esteemed  fellow-citizen  we  are  after;  it  is  the 
smug  complacency  and  cant  of  many  men  of  similar 
high  position  in  our  American  cities,  who  wax 
eloquent  in  bemoaning  our  political  depravity,  but 
through  cowardice  or  their  own  culpability  are 
never  heard  from  when  there  is  any  real  work  to 
be  done." 

Paddock  was  sorry  to  have  caused  this  explosion 
and  he  called  on  the  Colonel  to  explain;  but  Colonel 
Craighill's  rage  was  not  appeased.  He  wanted  to 
sue  the  newspaper,  but  his  lawyer  advised  against 
it;  the  conditions  in  the  tenement  were  about  as 
the  Mail's  artist  portrayed  them,  and  there  was  no 
disputing  the  fact  that  the  Colonel  owned  the  prop 
erty,  though,  to  be  sure,  he  had  lately  mortgaged 
it.  The  refusal  of  the  Star  to  spring  to  his  defense 
astounded  Colonel  Craighill.  It  was  not  the  Star's 
business,  he  learned,  to  correct  the  Mail's  mis- 
statements,  and  the  Star,  smarting;  because  the  Mail 


HIGH  DECISION  415 

had  scored  a  "beat,"  began,  out  of  sheer  pique,  a 
vigorous  attack  on  the  city  administration. 

Colonel  Craighill  believed  himself  sincere  in  his 
devotion  to  reform  work,  and  the  Mail's  assault  was 
unfortunate  in  that  it  evoked  echoes  of  the  familiar 
cynicisms  against  all  movements  for  our  political 
and  moral  uplift.  Gentlemen  in  white  waistcoats 
at  banquet  tables  cannot  re-create  mankind  by 
resolution;  nor  do  their  failures  mean  that  the 
people  are  unsound.  Politics  and  government  are 
practical  matters.  Democracy  is  an  ideal.  And 
as  such  it  can  never  be  fully  realized.  It  gathers 
strength  through  successive  experiments  and  rein 
carnations.  The  goal,  always  a  little  further  on, 
is  sought  in  faith  and  abandoned  in  despair,  but 
its  changing  light  can  never  outshine  the  hope  in 
man's  heart. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

THE    HIGH    MOMENT   OF   THEIR    LIVES 

WAYNE  dined  at  the  Club  with  Walsh  the 
next  evening  and  told  him  of  the  break 
with  his  father.  Walsh  listened  in  frowning  silence 
to  the  end. 

"It's  a  mistake;  it's  a  great  mistake.  I'm  sorry 
it's  happened." 

"There  was  no  other  way;  it  had  to  come.  He 
had  no  right  to  jump  me  because  he's  in  trouble. 
I'm  not  responsible  for  all  his  mistakes;  I'm  one 
of  them  myself  and  it's  enough.  He's  hot  because 
he  let  go  of  the  mercantile  company;  he  has  to  find 
some  excuse  now  for  doing  it  and  he  says  you 
tricked  him  into  selling.  The  money  you  paid 
him  went  into  the  hole  without  making  any  im 
pression  on  it." 

"I  paid  him  a  fair  price  and  he  knows  it.  The 
figures  were  all  checked  by  the  audit  company. 
But  you  had  no  business  breaking  with  him.  I 
don't  like  it.  He  means  to  be  square;  he's  taken 
his  business  too  easy  and  now  that  some  of  these 
fancy  schemes  he's  in  have  gone  bad  and  the  banks 
are  worrying  him  you  oughtn't  to  have  allowed  him 
to  get  hot.  You  oughtn't  to  have  done  it,  boy.  And, 
besides,  you  might  have  helped  him.  You  must 

416 


THE   LORDS   OF  HIGH   DECISION   417 

be  good  for  nigh  on  to  eight  hundred  thousand 
dollars  —  all  good  stuff.  It's  all  clean.  You  don't 
owe  anything,  do  you?" 

"No;  nothing  worth  mentioning." 
'You  ought  to  help  him.     It  would  be  the  fine 
thing  to  do.     He's  your  father  —  you  can't  get  away 
from  that." 

But  Wayne  was  not  in  a  mood  for  magnanimity. 
Walsh  dwelt  at  length  on  his  duty,  on  what  was,  in 
the  old  fellow's  phrase,  "the  right  thing."  He 
indicated  concrete  instances  of  what  might  be  done 
to  help  Colonel  Craighill  back  to  a  firm  footing. 
Certain  things  should  be  dropped  as  worthless 
encumbrances;  the  real  estate  ventures  would  work 
out  in  time;  various  stocks  now  pledged  as  collateral 
should  be  redeemed.  The  pledging  of  half  of 
Wayne's  estate  would  strengthen  his  father  immensely 
with  the  creditors  and  might  save  him  from  ruin. 
Wayne  listened  attentively  to  Walsh;  he  saw  that 
it  might  be  done,  but  he  felt  no  impulse  to  act  on 
Walsh's  suggestions:  he  was  Roger  Craighill's  son 
no  longer. 

"Sorry  I  can't  see  it  your  way,  Tom,  but  I  have 
my  side  of  the  case,  too.  That  row  yesterday  proves 
how  far  apart  father  and  I  have  been.  If  our 
relations  had  been  right  and  what  they  ought  to  be 
he  would  have  asked  me  for  help,  or  I  would  have 
gone  to  him.  But  he's  always  taken  that  high  and 
mighty  way  about  things,  treating  me  as  though  I 
were  a  fool,  incapable  of  understanding.  He 
doesn't  really  appreciate  the  serious  trouble  he's  in. 


418  THE  LORDS   OF 

He  hardly  admits  that  it's  a  temporary  embarrass 
ment;  you  know  his  way.  No,  Tom,  I  don't  feel 
called  on  to  do  the  dutiful-son  act  and  dump  down 
on  his  desk  the  good  assets  I  inherited  from  my 
grandfather  and  have  added  to  a  little  bit  on  my 
own  account.  I  don't  owe  father  anything  —  not 
even  money.  I've  ordered  my  cars  sent  to  a  public 
garage;  I'm  going  up  now  to  pack  my  things." 

"The  house  is  all  clear;  that's  yours." 

"Yes,"  replied  Wayne  with  sudden  asperity; 
"it's  my  own  house  I'm  leaving." 

"Urn.  I  hope  these  troubles  of  the  Colonel's 
won't  be  hard  on  the  little  woman  up  there." 

He  spoke  half  to  himself,  and  when  Wayne  asked 
what  he  had  said,  Walsh  grunted  "Um"  and  rose 
from  the  table. 

Wayne  found  a  letter  in  the  club  office.  It  was 
from  Jean,  written  in  New  York.  A  large,  plain 
sheet  of  paper  with  the  writing  confined  to  a  square 
in  the  centre;  the  handwriting  small,  even,  dis 
tinctive.  It  was  the  first  message  he  had  ever 
received  from  her  and  he  carried  it  to  a  quiet  corner 
of  the  lounging  room  to  read. 

"My  grandfather  is  again  in  Pittsburg.  He  per 
sists  in  pressing  his  claim  against  your  father, 
though  I  have  begged  him  to  drop  it.  I  am  sorry 
to  trouble  you  about  such  a  matter,  but  if  you  can 
see  him  I  wish  you  would  try  to  persuade  him  to 
go  home.  He  has  brooded  over  his  claim  until 
he  is  no  longer  himself,  and  he  insisted  on  staying 
there  at  the  boarding  house  when  I  left. 


HIGH  DECISION  419 

"The  Richardsons  have  been  kind  to  me  in  every 
way.  I  am  at  their  house  and  shall  be  here  all  the 
time  I  spend  in  New  York.  I  go  to  my  work  over 
on  the  East  Side  every  day,  and  the  settlement  house 
people  look  out  for  me  and  help  me  find  the  models 
I  need. 

"I  hope  you  are  well  and  that  the  new  work  with 
Mr.  Walsh  will  prosper." 

Many  readings  could  not  torture  into  this  unex 
pected  message  any  personal  interest  in  himself. 
This  was  one  reflection,  but  it  was  something  that 
she  had  thought  of  him  in  her  perplexity.  Her 
shabby  old  grandfather,  with  his  long-neglected 
claim,  was  an  unfortunate  incumbrance;  it  was  too 
bad  the  girl  had  to  be  bothered  with  him.  It  flashed 
upon  him  that  he  might  go  to  New  York  and  see  her, 
but  he  dismissed  the  idea  at  once.  It  would  only 
distress  her,  and  he  was  Wayne  Craighill,  and  to 
call  on  Jean  at  the  Richardsons  might  injure  her 
—  a  bitter  reflection,  but  one  he  met  squarely.  In 
the  end,  after  he  had  studied  it  in  all  possible  angles, 
he  felt  happier  for  this  contact  with  something 
that  had  touched  her  hand.  It  was  almost  like  her 
own  presence,  this  sheet  of  paper  with  its  simple, 
straightforward  message,  and  the  block  of  script 
that  showed  the  artist's  "touch."  He  would  find 
the  bothersome  grandfather  to-morrow  and  settle 
the  old  claim  out  of  his  own  pocket  and  send  him 
back  to  Denbeigh. 

Wayne  ordered  a  motor  from  a  public  garage, 
and  rode  to  his  father's  house.  It  had  been  his 


420  THE   LORDS   OF 

intention  to  get  his  things  together  and  leave  without 
seeing  his  father  again.  The  lower  floor  was 
deserted  and  he  kept  on  to  his  own  room.  The 
remodelling  of  the  house  shortly  before  his  mother's 
death  had  made  no  change  in  the  rooms  that  had 
been  set  apart  to  him  in  his  youth.  There  were 
things  there  —  pieces  of  furniture  that  had  been  in 
his  grandfather  Wayne's  house,  a  number  of  old 
engravings  and  some  books,  that  he  could  send  for 
later.  He  packed  his  trunk  as  for  a  journey;  mak 
ing  a  pile  of  the  excess  clothing  to  be  called  for  later 
by  the  club  valet.  Then  he  filled  a  suit  case  and 
portmanteau  and  rang  for  the  house  man  to  carry 
them  down.  As  he  stood  at  the  door  taking  a  last 
look  at  the  walls  that  had  known  him  so  long,  the 
little  travelling  clock  on  the  mantel,  which  had 
timed  him  during  his  years  at  St.  John's  and  at  the 
'Tech,"  tinkled  nine,  and  on  the  hint,  he  picked  it 
up  and  reopened  the  portmanteau  to  make  room 
for  it. 

The  clock  on  the  stair  was  still  chiming  as  he 
closed  the  door.  He  was  rather  sorry  now  that  he 
had  not  made  an  effort  to  say  good-bye  to  Mrs. 
Craighill — poor  Addie;  this  was,  in  all  the  cir 
cumstances,  almost  desertion,  this  leaving  her  to 
fight  her  troubles  alone.  To  his  surprise  her 
sitting  room  door  was  open  and  she  stood  just 
outside  it,  leaning  over  the  stair  rail,  as  though 
intent  upon  something  below.  She  raised  her 
hand  warningly. 

" What's  the  matter,  Addie?" 


HIGH   DECISION  421 

"There's  someone  in  the  library  with  your  father. 
I  heard  you  when  you  came,  and  then  a  moment 
later  this  card  was  brought  up.  Your  father  was 
in  my  sitting  room  talking  and  he  seemed  very 
angry  at  being  interrupted  —  it  was  a  matter  of 
business,  he  said,  and  the  man  had  no  right  to 
follow  him  home."  ' 

Wayne  took  the  card  which  she  had  in  her  hand; 
it  bore  the  name  of  Andrew  Gregory  written  in 
pencil.  The  old  claimant,  denied  access  to  Colonel 
Craighill  at  his  office,  and  smarting  under  his  wrongs, 
had  sought  audience  here. 

"I  have  heard  angry  voices  once  or  twice.  You 
had  better  see  what's  the  matter." 

She  stole  downstairs  after  him.  The  portieres 
in  the  library  doors  were  drawn,  but  voices  could  be 
heard  quite  distinctly,  and  Wayne  recognized  the 
shrill  pipe  of  Gregory  raised  in  angry  denunciation: 
Mrs.  Craighill  was  greatly  perturbed  and  clung  to 
Wayne's  arm  as  the  angry  debate  continued.  The 
discussion  seemed  to  be  approaching  an  acute  phase, 
and  Wayne  strode  toward  the  door.  Gregory  had 
not  been  treated  right;  Wayne  had  felt  that  from 
the  beginning,  and  for  Jean's  sake  he  had  meant  to 
effect  some  adjustment  with  the  old  man;  but 
Gregory's  presence  in  the  house  created  a  new 
situation.  Jean's  letter  was  in  his  pocket,  asking 
him  to  see  that  no  harm  came  to  her  grandfather. 
It  was  his  first  commission  from  her  hand  and  the 
thought  of  this  sent  him  on  to  the  door.  Gregory 
was  not  sparing  of  vituperation;  he  heaped  harsh 


422  THE   LORDS   OF 

Saxon  epithets  upon  Colonel  Craighill,  who  roared 
back  at  him  angrily. 

"Get  out  of  my  house!  You  had  no  right  to 
come  here  with  your  preposterous  claim;  I  told  you 
my  lawyer  would  attend  to  you!" 

"You  didn't  send  me  to  your  lawyer  when  you 
wanted  my  property,  you  lying  hypocrite.  And 
I'm  going  to  publish  you  to  the  world  now  for  what 
you  are.  There's  no  bigger  scoundrel  in  the  State 
of  Pennsylvania  than  you;  but  now  - 

There  was  a  dull  sound  as  of  a  blow  struck  and  a 
heavy  fall  as  Wayne  flung  back  the  curtains.  Colonel 
Craighill  stood  there,  gazing  down  at  old  man 
Gregory,  who  lay  upon  his  side,  very  still.  Colonel 
CraighilPs  arm  was  extended,  his  body  pitched 
slightly  forward,  as  though  palsied  at  the  moment 
the  blow  had  been  struck.  He  turned  a  white  face 
toward  Wayne,  who  sprang  into  the  room,  with 
Mrs.  Craighill  close  behind. 

Wayne  straightened  the  crumpled  figure  on  the 
floor  and  Mrs.  Craighill  brought  water  and  brandy 
from  the  dining  room.  The  two  bent  over  the 
fallen  man,  whose  breath  came  in  hard  gasps.  His 
eyes  opened  and  shut  several  times  and  he  tried 
to  speak;  then  his  muscles  relaxed  and  he  lay  still. 
The  marks  of  death  were  on  him.  Wayne  and 
Mrs.  Craighill  exchanged  a  glance.  She  was  per 
fectly  cool  and  said  calmly: 

"  It  looks  bad.     Shall  I  call  a  doctor  ?  " 

"Wait  a  moment." 

Wayne  turned  to  his  father,  who  had   sunk  into 


THERE  WAS    A  DULL   SOUND   AS    OF    A    BLOW   STRUCK" 


HIGH   DECISION  423 

a  chair  and  was  cowering  there,  his  eyes  staring 
at  the  silent,  inert  figure  stretched  out  on  the 
floor.  He  knelt  and  put  his  head  to  Gregory's 
breast. 

"He's  dead,  father,"  said  Wayne  quietly. 

"Oh,  God!  he  can't  be  dead!  My  blow  could 
never  have  killed  him!" 

"There's  no  pulse  —  it's  all  over.  We'd  better 
think  about  this  pretty  hard  for  a  minute.  It  will 
be  too  late  when  the  doctor  comes  and  the  servants 
find  out.  We  must  know  what  story  you  want 
told  about  it." 

Mrs.  Craighill  still  crouched  by  the  old  man,  and 
she  put  her  hand  to  his  heart  now  and  satisfied  her 
self  that  it  had  ceased  to  beat.  She  remained  where 
she  was,  while  Wayne  stepped  to  the  doorway  and 
flung  the  curtains  together. 

'You  struck  him,  and  he  is  dead;  what  are  we 
to  do  about  it  ?"  he  demanded  of  his  father. 

"Why,  it  isn't  possible,  Wayne!"  cried  Colonel 
Craighill.  "It  was  more  in  the  way  of  pushing  him 
from  the  room  than  a  blow ;  it  may  have  been  on  the 
breast  —  perhaps  over  his  heart;  I  can't  remember, 
but  it  couldn't  have  killed  him  —  it's  a  faint  —  he 
will  come  around  again  all  right.  Try  the  brandy, 
Addie.  If  we  call  a  doctor 

He  was  pitiful  in  his  agitation  and  kept  twitching 
at  his  collar  and  wringing  his  hands. 

"The  man  is  dead,"  said  Mrs.  Craighill.  "We 
must  have  the  doctor;  but  Wayne  is  right:  before 
he  comes  you  must  know  what  you  are  going  to 


424  THE   LORDS   OF 

say  to  him;  the  matter  will  be  reported;  we  must 
know  what  to  say." 

"It  was  heart  disease;  the  blow  could  never  have 
killed  him,"  muttered  Colonel  Craighill. 

Wayne  knelt  again  by  the  quiet  figure  and  laid 
his  ear  to  the  pulseless  heart.  Mrs.  Craighill 
watched  him  as  he  rose,  waiting  for  him  to  tell  her 
to  call  the  doctor.  It  was  the  high  moment  in  all 
their  lives,  as  she  fully  realized. 

"The  situation  is  just  this,  father,"  and  Wayne's 
calmness  seemed  to  reassure  Colonel  Craighill. 

"Yes,  yes!"  he  faltered. 

"A  man  has  died  here  in  your  house.  You  admit 
you  struck  him;  and  no  matter  whether  death 
resulted  from  excitement  or  from  your  blow,  the 
thing  is  ugly.  A  doctor  must  be  called.  Addie, 
go  and  telephone  for  Dr.  Silvan,  for  Gardner,  too, 
and  for  Wynn  —  try  their  houses.  Silvan  is  near 
est;  call  him  last.  There's  no  time  for  quibbling 

-  what  are  we  going  to  tell  them  when  they 
come,  and  the  coroner  and  the  police?  It's  for 
you  to  say." 

"Oh,  my  God,  Wayne,  what  am  I  to  do?  I  tell 
you  I  didn't  kill  him;  I  couldn't  have  killed  him,  it 
was  more  —  why  Wayne,  you  know  - 

"The  man's  dead,  in  your  house,  and  you  confess 
that  you  struck  him.  What  are  we  going  to  say 
about  it?" 

Mrs.  Craighill  could  be  heard  in  the  telephone 
room  calling  the  doctors.  Colonel  Craighill  paced 
the  floor  nervously.  He  whirled  round,  his  face 


HIGH   DECISION  425 

twitching  with  excitement,  and  caught  Wayne  by 
the  shoulder. 

"If  we  could  ignore  the  blow  --  if  we  could  say  — 
the  man  —  died  —  dropped  dead  —  that  would  be 
true  —  quite  the  truth." 

"But  you  told  me  you  struck  him." 

'Yes,  yes;  but  it  was  the  slightest  touch  of  the 
hand  —  it  was  more  in  the  way  of  pushing  him  from 
the  room  -  -  you  could  hardly  say  I  struck  him  - 
you    could    hardly    call    it    an    assault,   could  you, 
Wayne?" 

It  was  the  plea  of  a  man  begging  for  mercy;  but 
contempt  and  scorn  were  gathering  might  in  Wayne's 
heart.  Mrs.  Craighill  was  calling  the  third  doctor, 
who  lived  nearest,  and  the  time  was  short. 

'You  are  Roger  Craighill.  What  you  say  of  this 
matter  will  be  believed.  But  when  the  doctors  ask 
how  it  happened,  wouldn't  it  be  as  well  to  remember 
that  I  was  in  the  house  —  and  that  I  have  no  repu 
tation  to  lose?" 

The  peace  of  the  dead  man  at  their  feet  hung  upon 
the  room.  Colonel  Craighill  lifted  his  head,  but 
he  did  not  face  his  son. 

"I  don't  understand  you,"  he  gasped. 

"Yes,"  said  Wayne,  "I  think  you  do  understand," 
and  he  spoke  the  words  slowly,  with  a  sharp  pre 
cision,  but  he  smiled  slightly.  He  forgot  himself, 
his  own  life  and  its  better  aims;  the  new  aspirations 
that  had  visited  him  during  his  long  self-communing 
in  the  hills;  the  thought  of  his  own  honour;  the 
precious  faith  in  life  and  love  that  Jean  Morley  had 


426  THE   LORDS   OF 

roused  in  him  —  all  went  down  before  this 
undreamed  of,  this  exquisite  vengeance.  He  had 
offered  to  assume  responsibility  for  the  death  of  this 
old  man  who  lay  stiffening  there  on  the  floor,  and 
Roger  Craighill  —  his  father  —  would  suffer  it,  would 
accept  the  sacrifice  and  connive  at  its  fulfilment! 

Wayne's  eyes  were  not  good  to  see  as  he  watched 
his  father  for  some  sign.  A  long  silence  followed 
in  which  neither  moved,  and  when  Colonel  Craighill 
turned  toward  his  son  it  was  with  a  guarded,  furtive 
glance,  as  though  he  had  hoped  to  find  him  gone. 

"The  doctors  are  on  the  way,  all  of  them,"  said 
Mrs.  Craighill  at  the  door.  'What  else  is  there 
to  do?" 

"Nothing,"  said  Wayne,  "but  this:  when  they 
come,  if  there's  any  question  of  a  blow  having  been 
struck,  I  did  it  —  /  did  it.  And,"  he  deliberated, 
"you'd  better  call  Tom  Walsh  at  the  Allequippa 
Club  and  tell  him  to  come  up.  He's  a  good  hand 
with  the  newspapers  and  the  police.  Good  night." 

Wayne  rode  back  to  the  city  in  the  motor  that 
had  carried  him  home,  and  at  the  garage  Joe, 
gossiping  with  the  loafing  chauffeurs,  heard  him 
order  out  his  racing  machine. 

They  had  not  met  since  Wayne's  long  absence 
in  the  hills,  but  Joe  had  learned  from  Paddock  that 
Wayne  was  in  a  place  of  safety.  Wayne's  appear 
ance  at  the  garage  and  demand  for  the  racer  brought 
Joe  up  standing,  and  he  took  charge  of  the  machine 
without  a  word. 


HIGH   DECISION  427 

Wayne  hardly  noticed  him,  so  deep  was  his  pre 
occupation  ;  and  this  in  itself  seemed  ominous  to  Joe. 

"So  you're  going  are  you,  Joe?  Well,  we're 
likely  to  be  gone  a  long  time,"  Wayne  said,  throwing 
his  bags  into  the  car.  At  the  Allequippa  Club  he 
cashed  a  check  for  a  thousand  dollars  and  supplied 
himself  with  cigars. 

And  so  they  plunged  into  the  night,  over  the  rough 
roads  of  spring. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

THE    HEART   OF   THE    BUGLE 

THEY  came  to  Harrisburg,  with  the  sun  low 
in  the  west  and  a  soft  haze  enfolding  the 
capitol  dome  —  that  proud  assertion  of  a  common 
wealth's  strength  and  power  that  greets  the  eye  of 
western  pilgrims  bound  for  Washington,  and  speaks 
of  the  pride  of  statehood  —  and  no  mean  state,  this! 

The  iron  bones  of  the  ponderable  earth  shook 
mightily  when  Pennsylvania  was  born.  No  light 
day's  business,  the  bringing  forth  of  this  empire! 
Mountains  to  rear  and  valleys  to  cut;  broad  rivers 
to  set  flowing  in  generous  channels;  forests  to  marshal 
and  meadows  to  unroll,  fair  and  open  and  glad  with 
green  things  growing.  Winter,  running  before  the 
hounds  of  spring,  hides  snow  like  a  miser  in  a  myriad 
pockets  of  the  hills  and  flies  northward  across  the 
blue  lakes  to  escape  the  gleeful  laughter  of  freed 
springs  and  singing  brooks. 

Scratch  the  crust  and  you  may  kindle  the  wrorld's 
hearth;  scatter  seed  and  fields  were  never  so  green. 
A  fair  prospect  for  the  eye,  but  greater  the  hope  in 
the  heart  of  man.  Fortunate  nation  this,  to  have 
so  secure  a  keystone  in  the  arch  of  states!  The 
spirits  of  the  pioneers,  haunting  the  hilltops,  gaze 
down  in  pride  upon  the  teeming  valleys.  You,  sober 

428 


THE   LORDS   OF  HIGH   DECISION   429 

ones  of  the  broad  brims,  the  axe  has  gone  deep  into 
the  forests  you  came  to  people;  and  you  in  whose 
blood  the  Scottish  pipes  skirl  and  in  whose  heads 
flash  the  wit  of  Irish  mothers,  no  land  ever  received 
sounder  or  saner  or  nobler  pilgrims.  And  you,  too, 
plodding  Dutchmen,  far-flung  drift  of  the  Rhenish 
Palatinate,  you  were  not  so  slow  and  dull  after  all, 
but  wise  in  your  sowing  and  reaping.  And  call 
the  roll  of  names  dear  to  the  Welsh  hills  and  mark 
the  lusty  response.  The  soundest  race-stocks  in  the 
world  are  grafted  here.  Let  us  be  wary  of  these 
tales  of  plunder  and  corruption.  The  soil  that 
knew  Franklin  is  not  so  lightly  to  be  yielded  to  per 
dition.  Let  us  have  patience,  sneering  ones;  the 
last  lumbering  Conestoga  has  hardly  faded  into  the 
west,  and  the  making  of  states  is  rather  more  than 
a  day's  pastime!  Verily,  you  paid  dearly  for  this 
house  of  your  law-makers  —  marble  and  bronze 
and  lapis  lazuli  forsooth!  But  have  a  care  that 
Wisdom  and  Honour  are  enthroned  in  those  splendid 
halls  —  and  with  no  pockets  in  their  togas!  Then 
let  him  that  defileth  the  temple  perish  by  the  sword! 

Wayne  and  Joe  sat  on  a  bench  in  the  capitol 
grounds  and  fed  the  squirrels.  They  had  inspected 
the  building  with  care  and  Joe  pronounced  it  good. 
The  mood  of  depression  with  which  Wayne  had 
left  home  clung  to  him,  but  Joe,  watching  him 
narrowly,  felt  that  the  cloud  was  less  dark  to-day. 

"This  is  nice  grass,"  Joe  observed.  "I  wonder 
why  town  grass  is  always  nicer  than  country  grass  ?" 


430  THE   LORDS   OF 

Wayne  smiled,  and  Joe  was  encouraged. 

"You  rankest  of  cockneys!  There  was  good 
grass  in  the  world  before  the  day  of  lawn  mowers. 
What  do  you  think  we're  going  to  do  now?" 

This  question  had  troubled  Joe  since  their  flight. 
He  had  an  immense  respect  for  Wayne;  it  was 
inconceivable  that  Mr.  Wayne  Craighill,  a  gentleman 
of  property,  a  member  of  clubs,  and  a  person  other 
wise  indulged  and  favoured  by  Fortune,  should  not 
weary  of  this  idle  adventure  and  go  home.  He  was 
confident  that  his  companion  would  come  to  himself 
soon,  but  he  would  follow  him  to  the  world's  end. 
Just  now,  as  evening  stole  over  the  town,  Joe  was 
hungry  and  Wayne's  indifference  to  the  stomach's 
pinch  was  inexplicable.  He  did  not  dare  propose 
that  they  seek  food.  Wayne  was  chief  of  the  expe 
dition  and  it  was  not  for  a  mere  private  in  the  ranks 
to  make  suggestions. 

"Did   you  ever   try   tramping?"    Wayne    asked 
presently. 

"I  can't  say  that  I  ever  did,  sir.  You  mean 
followin'  the  railroad  and  dodgin'  the  cops  ?  Sleepin' 
in  barns  and  jails  and  takin'  a  hand-out  and  a 
dog-bite  at  back  doors.  I  ain't  choosy,  but  I  ain't 
for  it,  Mr.  Wayne.  I  like  the  varnished  cars  myself." 
Wayne  did  not  debate  the  matter.  He  did  not  see 
his  future  clearly ;  the  world  was  bitter  in  his  mouth. 
He  was  fumbling  the  alphabet  of  life  like  a  child 
with  lettered  blocks,  soberly  piling  them  in  false 
positions  with  the  X  of  unknown  quantity  in  the 
middle.  Once  more  he  had  suffered  defeat  at  his 


HIGH   DECISION  431 

father's  hands.  The  newspaper  accounts  of  Andrew 
Gregory's  death,  on  which  he  had  pounced  the  day 
after  his  flight,  had  been  the  briefest :  he  had  dropped 
dead  while  calling  at  the  home  of  his  old  friend, 
Roger  Craighill!  Cheated  again  in  satisfying  his 
hatred  of  his  father,  the  knowledge  that  Roger 
Craighill  had  lied  to  the  doctors  was  poor  consolation. 
He  had  submitted  himself,  a  willing  Isaac,  to  be 
laid  on  Abraham's  altar,  but  the  right  to  perish 
had  been  denied  him.  He  was  utterly  morbid; 
there  was  no  health  in  him.  He  was  still,  in  Stod- 
dard's  phrase,  a  man  in  search  of  his  own  soul, 
though  he  did  not  know  it.  He  had  stood  between 
the  pillars  of  life  without  power  to  shake  them  down. 
He  sat,  as  it  wrere,  on  the  steps  beneath  the  high 
arch,  a  defeated  Samson.  But  he  would  never  go 
back;  that  was  definitely  determined;  and  by  con 
tinuing  his  exile  he  might  perhaps  intensify  his 
father's  penitence,  for  Roger  Craighill  had,  he 
assumed,  some  sort  of  conscience  that  would  rest 
uneasy  under  the  suppressed  fact  that  he  had  laid 
violent  hands  on  Andrew  Gregory. 

He  felt,  at  times,  a  pity  for  his  father's  wife.  She 
knew!  And  a  man  of  less  imagination  could  not 
have  failed  to  picture  the  new  relations  of  Roger 
Craighill  and  his  wife  with  the  common  knowledge 
of  that  night  hanging  over  them.  There  were 
people  who  might  feel  his  loss  out  of  their  world; 
there  were  Wingfield  and  Walsh,  and  there  was 
Paddock  —  he  believed  they  would  be  sorry  and 
miss  him,  but  one  man  more  or  less  in  the  grand 


432 

sum  of  things  is  nothing.  He  had  failed  in  good 
as  in  evil  intentions  —  failed  even  Jean  who  had 
asked  him  to  care  for  her  grandfather  and  save  him 
from  any  such  catastrophe  as  that  which  must  now 
have  brought  misery  upon  her,  for  the  old  man's 
death  had  undoubtedly  interrupted  her  work,  and  she 
must  hate  him  for  his  worthlessness.  He  accepted 
his  fate  sullenly;  his  life  was  ill-starred,  its  ordering 
futile. 

He  recalled  Joe  from  his  contemplation  of  the 
squirrels  and  they  went  to  a  hotel  that  Joe  had 
known  in  other  days,  and  lodged  for  the  night. 
Wayne  had  let  his  beard  grow,  and  his  clothes  were 
the  worse  for  rain  and  dust.  But  the  differences 
between  them  were  reconciled  by  these  changes,  and 
they  looked  like  two  mechanics  in  search  of  employ 
ment.  The  thousand  dollars  with  which  Wayne 
had  left  home  had  melted  slowly.  The  bulk 
of  the  small  bills  was  an  embarrassment  and  he 
divided  them  with  Joe. 

The  idea  of  losing  himself  in  the  world,  of  wander 
ing  free  in  the  spring  weather,  took  hold  of  his 
fancy.  He  had  watched  tramps  from  car  windows 
with  indifference  or  contempt,  but  he  had  read  of 
men  of  wisdom  who  forsook  the  life  to  which  they 
were  born  for  the  open  road.  Perhaps  in  the  general 
sifting  processes  of  nature  and  life  this  had  been 
his  predestined  fate!  He  did  not  care  one  way 
or  another.  He  was  willing  that  henceforth  Fate 
should  shake  the  dice  and  he  would  abide  by  the 
decision.  The  lords  of  destiny  might  pass  any 


HIGH   DECISION  433 

judgment  they  liked  upon  him:  he  was  Wayne 
Craighill,  and  he  would  make  no  defense  to  any 
indictments  they  might  lodge  against  him  in  their 
high  tribunal. 

He  bought  a  pipe  as  better  suited  to  his  new  role 
as  a  man  of  the  road  and  they  set  out  for  a  walk  in 
the  streets  of  Harrisburg.  Laughter  flashed  out 
from  open  windows;  boys  and  girls  went  sweet- 
hearting  through  the  quiet  streets;  gay  speech, 
floating  out  from  verandas  and  doorsteps,  contrib 
uted  to  the  sense  of  spring.  A  girl's  voice,  singing 
to  the  strumming  of  a  banjo,  gave  him  a  twinge 
of  heartache.  He  was  an  alien  in  a  strange  land 
and  the  openness  and  simplicity  and  sweetness  of 
the  town  life  drove  in  upon  him  the  realization 
of  his  own  detachment  from  the  world  of  order  and 
peace.  They  went  down  to  the  river  and  listened 
to  the  subdued  murmur  of  the  Susquehanna  moving 
seaward  under  the  stars. 

Wayne  suddenly  remembered  Joe,  sprawled  on 
the  grass  beside  him. 

"See  here,  Joe,  you're  a  good  fellow  and  you've 
been  bully  in  standing  by  me.  But  you'd  better  cut 
loose  here.  You  must  go  back  home  to  your  job.  It's 
not  square  to  drag  you  along  with  me;  I'm  a  busted 
community  and  I  don't  know  where  I'm  going  to 
land.  I'm  not  ready  to  go  home  yet  —  you  ought 
to  understand  that." 

"I've  signed  my  papers,"  replied  Joe.  "I'm  not 
playin'  for  my  release.  I'm  not  much  stuck  on 
walkin',  but  if  that's  the  sport,  I'm  in.  If  it's 


434  THE   LORDS   OF 

crackin'  safes  or  burnin'  barns  I'll  divide  the  job. 
I'm  no  quitter." 

Wayne  said  nothing,  but  he  laid  his  hand  for  a 
moment  on  Joe's  arm. 

They  went  back  to  the  hotel  -  -  not  of  the  best  — 
where  they  played  billiards  for  an  hour  and  went 
to  bed.  Wayne  did  not  know  it,  but  Joe  watched 
until  well  past  midnight  to  make  sure  that  Wayne 
did  not  go  down  to  the  bar;  then  he  scrawled  and 
mailed  a  postal  card  to  Paddock. 

"All  O.  K.  and  sober.  Don't  follow;  I'm  on 
the  job";  a  message  which  Paddock  bore  promptly 
to  Wingfield  who  passed  it  on  to  Walsh.  Poor 
Paddock!  His  sad  little  smile  gained  in  pathos 
those  days!  Wingfield  at  the  Allequippa  was  better 
let  alone;  he  leaned  on  Walsh,  who  had  found  a 
new  and  blacker  cigar,  and  would  not  speak  of 
Wayne. 

''We'll  leave  the  machine  here  until  we  want  it 
again,"  said  Wayne  in  the  morning.  "And  we 
can  express  the  suit  cases  to  the  next  stop.  We'll 
travel  incog,  as  Jones  and  Smith.  I'll  match  for 
the  Smith;  it's  a  name  I've  always  admired." 

He  nipped  a  coin  and  pronounced  himself  Jones. 

"Where  shall  we  send  the  stuff?"  asked  Joe. 

The  porter  was  at  that  moment  announcing  a 
train  in  the  hotel  office  and  Wayne  caught  a  name. 

"Send  it  to  Gettysburg,"  he  said. 

They  stepped  into  the  street  and  were  at  once 
launched  upon  their  expedition.  A  shower  in  the 
early  morning  had  laid  the  dust  and  sweetened  the 


HIGH   DECISION  435 

air;  the  sky  was  never  bluer;  the  young  leaves 
brightened  in  the  sun;  the  horizons  were  wistful 
with  the  hope  and  faith  of  May.  The  country 
silence  soon  enwrapt  them  like  a  balm.  Joe  began 
to  whistle  but  gave  it  up.  He  looked  back  upon 
the  haze  that  hung  above  the  capitol  and  was 
homesick  for  paved  ground  and  the  buzz  of 
trolleys. 

"It's  kind  o'  lonesome,"  he  observed,  so  plain 
tively  that  Wayne  laughed. 

"Oh,  you'll  begin  to  like  it  after  a  while.     When 

you  get  used  to  travelling  this  way  you  won't  buy 

any  more  railroad  tickets.     I've  read  books  about 

people  who  walked  everywhere  —  all   over  Europe 

-  because  it's  the  best  way  to  see  the  country." 

"1  guess  we're  more  likely  to  write  home  for 
money.  I  wonder  if  they  wouldn't  give  us  a  bite 
at  that  house  over  there." 

"Not  much  they  won't!  You've  got  to  be  very 
regular  at  meals  when  you  go  to  tramping  and, 
besides,  it  isn't  ten  o'clock  yet." 

"  It  would  be  nice  if  apples  were  ripe.  We  tackled 
it  at  the  wrong  season  for  fruit.  I  think  I  could 
eat  raw  lettuce  out  of  that  garden." 

For  the  greater  part  Wayne  trudged  in  silence. 
They  paused  now  and  then  to  rest  and  beside  a 
little  creek  they  cut  themselves  sticks.  Morning 
was  never  so  long  and  at  eleven  o'clock  Joe  declared 
himself  famishing  and  Wayne  mercifully  agreed 
to  seek  food. 

"I'll    tackle    this    house,"    suggested    Joe,    "and 


436  THE   LORDS   OF 

try  the  dog's  teeth,  but  I've  always  liked  these  pants,'* 
he  added  ruefully. 

"As  we're  young  at  the  game  we'll  omit  that 
feature  of  the  tramping  business,"  Wayne  replied. 
"For  to-day  we  will  be  two  scientists  studying  the 
farming  methods  of  the  country.  We  will  pay 
for  our  dinner  and  save  our  trousers." 

They  chose  the  largest  farmhouse  in  sight,  made 
their  appeal,  and  dined  at  the  family  table.  Wayne 
paid  generously  for  their  entertainment  and  smoked 
a  pipe  with  the  farmer,  who  gave  them  permission 
to  sleep  in  his  barn.  In  the  morning  they  dipped 
themselves  in  the  neighbouring  creek  and  paid  for 
lodging  and  breakfast  at  a  house  farther  on.  They 
were  a  little  footsore,  but  finding  that  \Yayne  had 
no  intention  of  submitting  himself  to  the  indignities 
suffered  by  professional  tramps,  Joe  went  forward 
in  livelier  spirits.  He  wras  not  without  his  pride, 
and  he  was  ambitious  that  his  hero  should  be  respect 
able.  At  intervals  W7ayne  chaffed  him  in  his  old 
familiar  fashion,  and  this  brought  Joe  almost  to 
singing  pitch. 

"I  guess  this  is  all  right,"  he  vouchsafed,  as  they 
lounged  in  the  shade  and  ate  a  luncheon  purchased 
at  a  country  store.  A  pail  of  milk  procured  at  a 
farmhouse  graced  their  banquet.  Sobriety,  Joe 
reflected,  was  assured  so  long  as  this  life  continued. 

They  preferred  haymows  to  the  beds  that  were 
offered  them,  and  when  it  was  found  that  they  paid 
their  way  no  one  denied  them.  It  grew  intensely 
hot  on  the  second  day,  and  at  night  a  thunder-storm 


HIGH   DECISION  437 

swept  the  land  with  loud  cannonading.  The  light 
ning  glowed  at  the  cracks  of  the  loft  where  they 
had  found  lodging;  it  seemed  at  times  that  the  barn 
was  wrapt  in  flame.  They  slept  late  the  next 
morning,  breakfasted  and  resumed  their  leisurely 
course.  They  rested  often  and  indulged  in  siestas 
of  length  at  noon.  The  wind  and  sun  tanned  them ; 
Wayne  with  his  reddish  beard  was  hardly  the  man 
we  have  seen  at  the  Allequippa  Club. 

They  came  upon  a  becalmed  automobile  in  which 
a  gentleman  and  a  number  of  ladies  were  touring 
to  Washington.  The  party  was  chafing  at  the 
enforced  delay;  and  the  two  wanderers  promptly 
shed  their  coats  and  lent  assistance.  When  the 
damage  was  repaired  the  gentleman  appraised 
their  services  and  tendered  payment.  Joe,  with 
scornful  rejection  on  his  tongue,  was  surprised  to 
see  Wayne  accept  the  bill  and  lift  his  cap  in  acknowl 
edgment.  They  watched  the  car  gather  speed  and 
dip  out  of  sight  beyond  a  hill. 

"I  didn't  suppose  wre'd  take  tips,"  remarked  Joe 
meekly,  looking  at  a  two-dollar  bill  in  his  own 
hand. 

"My  dear  companion  in  misery,  we  gentlemen  of 
the  road  refuse  nothing!  And  besides,  it  was  cheap 
at  the  price.  Any  well-regulated  garage  would  have 
taxed  him  ten  dollars.  And  it  pleased  me  to  see 
that  I'm  so  well  disguised.  I've  sat  at  the  same 
table  with  that  man  and  he  didn't  know  me  from 
Adam.  The  barber  and  tailor  make  us,  Joe  - 
remember  that  I  said  so.  I'm  learning  something 


438  THE   LORDS   OF 

new  every  day  and  by  the  time  we've  walked  around 
the  world  we'll  be  educated  men." 

"I'm  afraid  you'd  lose  me,"  grinned  Joe.  "I 
heard  a  train  whistle  a  while  ago.  It  almost  gave 
me  heart  disease." 

There  were  times  now  when  Wayne  seemed 
himself,  but  he  was  more  and  more  inexplicable. 
When  he  sprawled  under  a  tree  during  their  long 
noonings  Joe  knew  that  he  did  not  sleep,  but  stared 
silently  at  the  sky;  and  as  they  trudged  along  many 
hours  would  pass  in  utter  silence.  And  so,  by 
devious  ways,  they  came  to  Gettysburg. 

They  had  gone  astray  many  times  when,  at 
nightfall,  they  came  unawares  upon  the  battlefield. 
A  fog  born  of  recent  rains  rose  from  the  wet  earth 
and  hung  in  broken  clouds.  They  paused  beside 
a  fence,  uncertain  of  directions.  Suddenly  a  cry 
from  Joe  arrested  Wayne's  attention.  Near  at 
hand  a  horse  and  rider  seemed  flung  upward  into 
the  misty  starlight.  The  erect  figure  of  the  man,  the 
arched  neck  and  upraised  foot  of  the  horse,  were 
star'lingly  vivid.  The  weird  spectacle  held  them 
fascinated.  At  any  moment  the  mystical  horseman 
might  take  flight  and  gallop  into  the  enfolding  fog 
in  pursuit  of  his  lost  legion.  Other  figures,  equally 
fantastical,  and  ghostly  monuments  rose  against 
the  starry  sky  out  of  the  drifting  fog-ribbons.  Joe, 
staring  about,  cried  aloud  in  fear  as  he  stumbled 
against  a  cannon.  Wayne  explained  that  they 
were  on  the  Gettysburg  battlefield  and  that  these 
were  memorials  of  dead  soldiers. 


HIGH   DECISION  439 

"It's  too  woozy  for  me,"  declared  Joe,  and  they 
sought  the  town  and  found  their  bags  and  lodging 
for  the  night. 

They  woke  in  the  morning  to  find  it  Memorial 
Day,  with  excursions  of  veterans  pouring  in  for  a 
celebration.  They  followed  their  own  devices,  keep 
ing  away  from  the  crowd,  and  late  in  the  afternoon 
rested  at  the  foot  of  Warren's  statue  on  Little  Round 
Top.  Wayne  had  bought  a  map  and  he  opened  it 
to  fix  the  lines  of  Pickett's  assault.  His  blood 
tingled  as  he  grasped  the  significance  of  the  famous 
charge,  gazing  down  upon  the  field  of  death.  He 
explained  it  to  Joe  and  they  rose  as  by  one  impulse 
and  took  off  their  caps. 

"They  were  men,  Joe;  it  takes  men  with  the 
real  stuff  in  them  to  do  that." 

Scattered  over  the  field,  sightseers  followed  the 
events  of  the  long-vanished  July  days.  An  old  man 
in  the  blue  blouse  of  the  Grand  Army  of  the  Republic 
toiled  slowly  up  Little  Round  Top  and  stationed 
himself  near  them.  He  was  muttering  to  himself, 
and  so  intent  upon  his  owrn  thoughts  that  he  did  not 
see  them.  He  pointed  with  his  hat  as  though 
demonstrating  some  controverted  point,  and  shook 
his  head,  and  W7ayne  and  Joe  eyed  him  wonderingly. 
The  veteran's  lean  figure  was  erect;  he  thrust  his 
stick  under  his  arm  and  looked  dowrn  upon  the 
battlefield,  the  wind  playing  softly  in  his  gray  hair. 
He  turned  toward  Cemetery  Ridge  and  saw  the  men 
behind  him.  A  wTild  look  came  into  his  bleared 
eyes  and  he  grasped  Wayne's  arm,  whispering: 


440  THE   LORDS   OF 

"It's  in  the  bugle!     It's  in  the  bugle!" 

"You  were  a  soldier  in  this  battle?"  asked 
Wayne,  not  understanding. 

"I  was  in  many  battles,  young  man.  It's  the 
bugle  that  does  the  mischief;  pluck  the  heart  out 
of  the  bugle  and  drum  and  men  won't  kill  each 
other  any  more.  Many  a  man  I've  bugled  down  to 
death." 

He  dropped  his  head  upon  his  breast.  A  bird 
sang  in  the  thicket  below.  On  the  heights  beyond 
a  bugle  sounded,  faint  as  though  from  a  far-off  time. 
The  old  man  shrank  away;  then  he  began  to  speak, 
in  the  hoarse,  broken  voice  of  age,  but  coherently, 
as  though  reciting  an  oft-told  tale: 

"We  had  a  boy  captain  with  beautiful  brown 
eyes,  who  had  left  college  to  go  into  the  army.  That 
boy,  with  his  handful  of  cavalry,  felt  bigger  than 
old  Napoleon  and  we  were  as  proud  of  him  as  he 
was  of  us.  Early  in  the  war  we  were  sent  out  on  a 
scout  along  the  Chickahominy  and  were  going  back 
to  our  brigade  when  we  ran  plump  into  a  bunch 
of  the  enemy's  cavalry  that  had  been  out  feeling  our 
line.  They  wrere  just  coming  up  out  of  a  ford,  and 
it  was  a  surprise  on  both  sides,  but  our  captain 
laughed  and  said: 

'The  charge,  trumpeter!' 

"I  let  go  with  the  bugle  and  we  slapped  into 
them  right  at  the  edge  of  the  water.  There  was  a 
bad  mess  for  a  few  minutes,  then  back  we  went 
with  the  gray  boys  at  our  heels.  We  fought  up 
and  down  the  road,  as  though  we  were  only  playing 


HIGH   DECISION  441 

a  game;  sometimes  we  drove  them  and  then  they 
drove  us.  On  our  second  dash  I  felt  my  horse's 
hoof  plunk  soft  onto  a  dead  man,  and  I  remember 
how  queer  it  made  me  feel.  We  had  to  win  that 
ford,  and  the  other  fellows  wanted  it  just  as  bad  as 
we  did.  Well,  it  was  nearly  dark  when  we  began 
that  foolishness,  and  a  good  many  of  the  boys  had 
dropped  out  of  their  saddles,  and  a  few  horses  were 
running  up  and  down  with  us,  just  for  company 
I  guess,  or  because  they  knew  the  calls  and  followed 
the  bugle.  I  remember  how  the  little  moon  hung 
over  the  trees  and  the  stars  came  out,  but  our  captain 
kept  up  the  fight.  It  was  all  like  a  lark,  but  silly, 
for  we  were  in  between  the  lines  where  we  might 
have  brought  on  a  general  engagement  with  all  the 
racket  we  were  making.  I  remember  thinking 
the  game  would  last  forever,  as  we  charged  and 
wheeled  and  flung  ourselves  at  the  gray  boys;  and 
every  time  we  swung  at  them  again  there  were  more 
soft  thumps  where  my  horse  struck  dead  men.  I 
have  dreamed  about  that  a  thousand  times  —  the 
scared  little  moon,  and  the  rattle  of  accoutrements 
and  the  pounding  hoofs,  and  the  yells,  and  the 
crack  of  pistols;  but  it  was  mostly  the  sabre,  splash 
ing  and  cutting.  I  felt  that  now  I  had  got  the  hang 
of  it,  it  would  be  just  as  easy  to  bugle  the  stars  out 
of  the  sky  as  to  sound  charge  and  recall  there  by 
the  ford.  Well,  we  got  the  ford  all  right,  but  when 
we  splashed  through  to  the  other  side  there  was 
only  about  half  of  us  left,  and  I  felt  sick  and  giddy 
when  I  looked  down  and  saw  the  little  captain  was 


442  THE   LORDS   OF 

gone  and  the  lieutenant  was  riding  by  me  where 
that  brown-eyed  boy  had  been. 

"That  was  only  the  beginning  and  I  got  hardened 
fast  enough;  but  when  the  war  was  over  I  used 
to  wake  up  at  night  and  think  of  all  the  battles 
I'd  fought  in,  and  try  to  count  up  the  men  I  had 
bugled  out  to  die.  Then  I  married  and  had  a  home 
for  a  while,  but  my  wife  died,  and  those  old  times 
began  to  get  bigger  and  bigger  and  now  I  never 
look  back  to  anything  but  just  those  days  of  the 
camp,  and  the  fights;  and  the  bugle  sings  in  my 
ears  all  the  time  as  though  it  was  calling  to  the  men 
I  sent  into  battles  where  they  died!" 

" War's  an  ugly  business;  somebody  has  to  be 
killed,"  said  Wayne  kindly,  moved  to  pity  by  the 
veteran's  emotion. 

"I've  trumpeted  my  thousands  down  to  death," 
he  answered;  and  then,  clearing  his  throat,  he  went 
on: 

"I  dream  every  night  that  I'm  on  a  high  place  - 
not  here,  but  a  grayish  sort  of  hill  with  a  gray  cloud 
hanging  over  it,  and  I  look  down  and  see  long  lines 
of  them  marching." 

'Them?"  Wayne  asked. 

"Ghosts,  the  ghosts  of  dead  soldiers,  marching 
with  their  heads  bowed  down  the  way  tired  soldiers 
march  at  night.  And  when  one  line  passes,  another 
trumpeter  strikes  up  and  another  army  of  the  same 
tired  ghosts  follows  right  after.  It's  all  mighty  still 

-you  never  hear   any   sounds   at   all   except   the 
trumpet,  and  it's  muffled  and  choked  —  not  even 


HIGH   DECISION  443 

when  the  cavalry  come  along  or  the  artillery.  You 
know  how  moving  guns  rumble  like  thunder  when 
they  go  along  a  hard  road  ?  Well,  you  never  hear 
even  the  cannon,  but  the  cavalry  ride  with  their 
heads  down,  like  the  infantry,  and  the  horses  with 
their  noses  against  their  knees  almost;  and  the 
artillerymen  sit  on  the  caissons  with  their  arms 
folded  and  their  heads  bowed  as  though  they  were 
asleep.  I  can't  make  out  where  they  came  from  or 
where  they  are  going;  they  just  came  out  of  nowhere 
and  go  nowhere  —  but  they  never  stop  coming. 
And  the  trumpeters  blow  back  all  the  men  that 
have  ever  died  in  battle  since  the  world  began  - 
so  that  they  are  years  and  years  passing  by  --  that's 
the  way  it  seems  in  my  dream.  Then  I'm  all  alone 
on  the  hill,  and  I  know  it's  my  turn  to  sound  the 
trumpet;  and  something  clicks  in  my  throat  when 
I  try  to  blow,  and  I  can't  make  a  sound,  and  as  I 
keep  trying  and  trying  I  wake  up;  but  I  never 
can  make  them  come.  I  can't  bring  back  my 
dead  men  out  of  the  dust  the  way  the  others  did, 
and  I  sit  up  and  cry  when  I  remember  how  I 
killed  them." 

He  ceased  as  abruptly  as  he  had  begun,  stared 
fixedly  at  Wayne  and  Joe  and  then  slowly  descended, 
muttering  and  shaking  his  head.  When  he  was 
out  of  sight  the  two  stood  silently  gazing  after  him. 
Wayne  drew  his  hand  across  his  forehead  several 
times  before  he  spoke. 

"  Men  live  for  things  and  they  die  Jor  things. 
That  poor  old  fellow  has  lost  his  mind  brooding 


444  THE  LORDS   OF 

over  the  horror  of  war.  They  didn't  do  it  for  them 
selves —  the  men  who  fought  that  war  —  they  did 
it  for  the  country,  and  for  you  and  me  who  weren't 
born.  I  wonder  —  I  wonder  how  it  would  be  to  do 
something  just  once  that  was  for  somebody  else?" 

Then  he  remembered  what  Jean  had  said  to 
him  in  his  father's  library,  that  we  must  serve  our 
selves  before  we  attempt  to  serve  others.  He 
applied  this  to  himself  tentatively,  wondering  whether 
any  philosophy  was  really  applicable  to  his  case. 
Joe  spoke  to  him;  he  wanted  to  discuss  the  old 
soldier's  story,  but  Wayne  did  not  heed  him.  He 
was  looking  dreamily  down  upon  the  tranquil 
landscape.  Then  he  slapped  his  hands  together 
as  was  his  way  when  a  new  thought  took  hold  of  him. 

"Joe." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"I  wonder  how  it  would  seem  to  go  to  work." 

"Well,  there's  always  your  roost  in  the  high 
buildin'  and  buttons  to  press  for  the  slaves,"  sug 
gested  Joe  cheerfully. 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Joe.  I  mean  work  —  the 
kind  that  real  men  do,  digging  or  planting,  or  any 
kind  of  thing  that  breaks  your  back  and  makes  you 
dead  tired  —  the  work  men  do  who  would  do 
that  -  '  and  he  levelled  his  arm  toward  the  field 
where  Pickett's  legion  had  charged  through  the 
hail-swept  wheat  field. 

Joe  was  not  equal  to  this;  here  was  a  man  born 
immune  from  the  primal  curse,  first  turning  tramp 
and  sleeping  in  barns,  and  now  soberly  threatening 


HIGH  DECISION  445 

to  go  to  work.  So  unaccountable  a  frame  of  mind 
put  Joe  on  guard;  very  likely  Wayne  was  preparing 
for  another  spree  and  Joe  was  troubled. 

The  next  morning  Wayne,  without  explanation, 
laid  their  course  toward  the  north;  but  Joe  thought 
he  knew  where  they  were  going. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

GOLDEN    BRIDGE 

THEY  followed  the  Susquehanna  northward  into 
Jean's  country  —  "my  country"  she  had 
called  it.  They  saw  dawn  and  sunset  brighten 
the  glad  water  into  silver  and  gold  and  bronze. 
They  moved  slowly,  for  it  is  sweet  to  loiter  in 
that  lovely  valley  when  June  is  young,  and  a 
man  in  search  of  his  soul  may  catch  glimpses  of 
it  on  the  hilltops.  When  the  days  were  hot 
they  tramped  at  night  and  many  pleasant  adven 
tures  were  theirs.  We  are  foolish  —  we  men - 
in  our  loving,  thinking  that  we  can  hide  the  blind 
god's  arrow  when  it  quivers  in  our  hearts;  and 
these  men  believed  that  each  hid  from  the  other 
his  happiness  in  the  knowledge  that  they  journeyed 
toward  her  hills --"my  country!"  They  loitered 
the  more  because  Wayne  knew  she  might  not 
be  there;  she  must  be  about  her  errands  in  the 
South  and  West,  and  he  had  no  idea  what  effect 
her  grandfather's  death  might  have  had  upon 
her  affairs.  At  any  rate  it  would  be  sweet  to  see 
the  hills  of  her  youth  and  the  places  that  had 
known  her. 

They  paused  one  afternoon  at  a  little  town  to 
which  their  bags  had  been  expressed.     They  had  now 

446 


THE   LORDS  OF  HIGH   DECISION    447 

come  into  the  region  where  the  irregular  outlines 
of  the  anthracite  breaker  are  roughly  etched  on  the 
horizons,  and  Joe  at  once  found  acquaintances. 
The  prospect  of  a  baseball  contest  between  the 
local  nine  and  its  formidable  rival  from  a  neighbour 
ing  town  thrilled  the  community.  Joe's  eligibility 
as  an  amateur  was  not  discussed;  the  opposing 
nine  openly  boasted  of  a  retired  professional.  He 
was  got  into  uniform  without  ado,  and  put  his  left 
arm  in  commission  with  a  few  hours'  practice.  The 
young  fellow's  joy  in  this  opportunity  to  display 
his  skill  emphasized  to  Wayne  the  irreconcilable 
difference  between  Jean  Morley  with  her  high  aspira 
tions  and  this  young  fellow  with  his  childish  ideals. 
There  was  no  hour  of  the  day  that  did  not  bring 
its  thought  of  her. 

Wayne  sat  amid  a  turbulent  throng  in  the  ball 
park  and  watched  Joe  with  pride.  And  is  there 
in  the  history  of  sport  another  game  so  exacting  in 
its  demands  on  skill,  judgment  and  strength,  so 
prolific  of  surprise,  as  our  national  game  ?  Or  did 
ever  Greek  athlete  bend  his  lithe  body  into  forms 
half  so  graceful  as  those  seen  an  hundred  times 
on  the  diamond  in  every  contest!  The  shortstop 
at  his  nimble  pick-up  and  throw  has  no  points  to 
yield  to  the  Discobolus  of  Myron.  Behold  Joe 
Denny,  a  master  of  the  pitcher's  art  and  all  its 
subtle  psychology!  The  man  at  the  bat  is  less  his 
antagonist  than  his  victim.  He  plays  upon 
doubt,  hesitation,  and  suspense.  His  good  nature, 
expressed  in  a  half-ironic  grin,  is  part  of  his  equip- 


448  THE  LORDS   OF 

ment.  That  deliberate  search  for  the  proper  footing, 
those  tentative  thrusts  of  his  shoe  into  the  earth, 
are  features  of  his  strategy.  His  glance  at  the 
bases  is  the  most  casual  -  -  never  furtive  or  anxious. 
He  holds  the  stage,  the  coolest  figure  in  the  scene. 
A  declaration  of  war  between  powers  is  awaited 
less  anxiously  than  his  delivery.  He  caresses  and 
woos  the  ball,  but  is  at  all  times  its  master.  He 
lifts  it  with  a  graceful  sweep  above  his  head;  arms 
and  body  are  in  perfect  agreement;  the  mind  has 
devised  the  exact  curve  and  speed  of  the  flight, 
and  the  arm  is  shrewd  in  execution.  The  world 
leans  to  the  ordained,  controlled  flight;  there  is 
quick  after-play;  and  again  young  Atlas,  a  trifle 
bored  by  his  applause,  takes  the  ball  into  his  hands 
and  by  wit  and  strength  lures  another  batter  to 
destruction.  Whatever  Joe's  right  arm  might  have 
been,  his  left  had  its  own  peculiar  cunning.  After 
two  innings  he  had  the  opposing  batters  at  his  mercy; 
his  grin  broadened  under  the  stimulus  of  the  cheer 
ing.  He  struck  out  three  men  in  succession  and 
the  crowd  was  wild. 

'They  was  fruit,"  said  Joe  later,  as  he  and 
Wayne  ate  supper  in  the  village  hotel.  "They 
hadn't  any  eye.  They  fanned  before  the  ball 
started." 

"It's  too  bad  to  waste  you.  You  ought  to  go 
back  into  the  game,"  said  Wayne.  "You'd  better 
write  to  those  fellows  who  wanted  you  in  New  York 
before  you  cracked  your  arm.  They're  always 
looking  for  talent." 


HIGH   DECISION  449 

"Ain't  we  goin'  to  work?  Ball  playin'  ain't  work, 
it's  fun,"  replied  Joe;  but  Wayne  knew  that  the 
taste  of  the  joys  of  the  game  had  whetted  Joe's 
appetite,  and  that  only  loyalty  to  himself  kept  him 
from  going  back  to  it. 

A  few  nights  later  they  walked  into  Denbeigh.  This 
was  Jean's  country  at  last  and  this  was  the  town 
where  she  had  grown  to  womanhood,  and  gone 
to  school,  and  seen  the  dead  men  brought  out 
of  the  pit.  And  here  she  and  Joe  had  played 
together  and  had  been  sweethearts  -  -  this  was 
in  Wayne's  thought  and  not  less  in  Joe's  we 
may  well  believe.  But  they  did  not  speak  her 
name  and  had  not  spoken  it  since  the  night 
Wayne  visited  Joe  in  the  garage;  and  that  was 
very  long  ago! 

Wayne,  more  and  more  inexplicable  to  Joe, 
insisted  that  they  should  go  to  a  miner's  boarding 
house,  though  there  was  a  fair  commercial  hotel 
in  the  place.  Wrayne  passed  well  enough  for  an 
American  labourer  now  -  -  big,  vigorous,  bearded, 
and  shabby  as  to  clothes.  It  was  a  question  whether 
Joe,  who  had  been  faithful  to  his  razor,  did  not  in 
spire  greater  confidence  in  the  beholder.  A  stranger 
in  such  a  community  is  a  marked  man  and  his 
motives  are  sharply  questioned;  but  Joe  was  on 
his  own  soil,  and  a  power,  it  seemed,  among  the  men 
of  the  pit,  and  he  gave  satisfactory  assurances  as 
to  Wayne's  intentions.  Pittsburg  has  few  lines  of 
contact  with  the  anthracite  country  -  -  a  fact  of 
which  Wayne  had  been  cognizant  in  choosing  the 


450  THE   LORDS   OF 

upper  Susquehanna  for  his  exile,  and  his  own 
name,  if  he  had  not  dropped  it,  would  have  meant 
little  here. 

Joe  had  believed  that  when  confronted  by  a  day's 
real  work  Wayne's  determination  would  weaken. 
Wayne  was  a  man  of  whims,  to  be  sure,  but 
Joe  had  no  illusions  as  to  the  nobility  of  labour, 
and  having  himself  enjoyed  the  fleshpots  of  the 
Craighill  kitchen  he  was  confident  that  the  food  of 
the  miner's  boarding  house  would  give  Wayne  pause, 
if  nothing  else  did.  But  Wayne  kept  doggedly  to 
his  resolution.  He  had  received  his  commission 
to  labour  from  Jean's  hands,  and  he  had  come 
into  her  country  as  into  holy  land.  He  was  not 
a  miner  and  under  the  law  could  not  go  down 
into  the  earth  as  he  had  expected,  to  wrest  coal 
from  its  great  caverns;  but  Joe  found  work  for 
him  as  a  teamster  at  the  Florence  colliery,  hauling 
timbers  and  other  supplies,  and  he  himself  in 
structed  Wayne  in  his  duties.  The  humour  of 
the  thing  tickled  Joe;  Wayne  Craighill  with  a 
pipe  in  his  mouth,  driving  a  mule  team  and  run 
ning  when  the  whistle  blew,  was  certainly  funny. 
And  when  the  day's  work  was  done  Wayne 
smoked  and  talked  with  the  motley  crowd  at  the 
boarding  house  and  made  them  like  him  —  as  was 
his  way.  He  caught  a  glimpse  now  and  then, 
through  the  office  window,  of  Craig,  the  chief 
engineer  — a  classmate  of  his  at  the  "Tech," 
bending  over  blueprints  of  the  workings;  but  they 
never  met  face  to  face. 


HIGH   DECISION  451 

Joe  had  found  work  for  himself  in  the  mines, 
and  came  up  at  night  as  black  as  the  blackest,  but 
with  his  cheer  unabated.  He  watched  Wayne  care 
fully,  believing  that  at  any  time  the  old  passion  for 
drink  would  reassert  itself;  and  he  wrote,  with 
much  labour,  half-humorous  post-card  bulletins  of 
Wayne's  doings  to  Walsh  and  Wingfield.  "Thump 
ing  mules  and  eating  boiled  pork  and  greens  with 
the  Dagoes.  Hasn't  drank  a  drop,"  read  one  of 
these  reports;  and  Walsh,  growling  and  swearing 
in  his  glass  box,  gave  currency  to  a  report  that  Wayne 
was  on  a  ranch  in  Colorado;  but  Paddock  and 
Wingfield  knew  the  truth  and  marvelled,  and 
Paddock  insisted  that  they  must  let  the  man  have 
his  way. 

It  must  not  be  thought  that  Wayne  Craighill  was 
tamely  submissive  to  this  new  order  of  life.  His 
arms  and  back  ached  for  the  first  week,  but  he 
profited  by  his  \vood-cutting  in  the  Virginia  hills 
where  his  palms  had  been  well  toughened  by  the 
axe.  The  little  room  in  which  he  slept  was  without 
a  single  comfort  that  he  had  known;  he  had  been 
fastidious  at  table,  and  only  the  honest  appetite 
created  by  his  day's  work  made  possible  the  food 
set  before  him.  He  was  possessed  by  a  righteous 
feeling  that  he  was  punishing  his  body  for  all  its 
misdeeds;  his  spirit,  too,  was  subjected  to  hourly 
humiliations.  He  had  been  cursed  as  a  fool  by  a 
dull  "boss,"  but  had  swallowed  the  cursing  meekly. 
At  supper  one  night  his  neighbour  produced  a  bottle 
of  whiskey  and  passed  it  down  the  line.  It  was 


452  THE   LORDS   OF 

vile  stuff,  but  the  odour  of  it  struck  home.  Wayne 
rose  abruptly  and  almost  ran  from  the  room.  And 
all  this  time  he  heard  nothing  of  Jean,  though  he 
had  seen  the  house  where  she  had  lived — a  little  cot 
tage  of  one  story,  with  a  flower  garden  about  it,  now 
sadly  gone  to  weeds.  It  had  last  been  opened,  he 
learned,  when  Andrew  Gregory  was  buried  from 
it.  He  passed  it  daily,  picturing  her  as  she  had 
lived  there  and  wondering  if  the  place  would  ever 
know  her  again. 

As  his  muscles  hardened  the  day's  work  worried 
him  less,  and  he  fell  into  the  habit  of  taking  long 
walks  at  night  to  exhaust  his  surplus  energy.  The 
goal  of  these  was  usually  Golden  Bridge,  a  point 
about  a  mile  from  town.  The  bridge  —  golden  in 
nothing  but  its  name  —  was  a  covered  wooden 
structure  of  a  picturesque  type  happily  preserved  in 
this  region.  He  used  to  climb  out  on  the  stone 
pier  at  one  end  of  it  and  sit  there,  hearing  the  song 
of  the  Susquehanna  amid  a  blur  of  frog  choruses 
and  chants  of  insects.  And  these  times  were  sacred 
to  thoughts  of  Jean,  for  this  was  her  country,  these 
her  hills,  with  their  filmy  scarfs  of  summer  cloud 
thrown  over  their  shoulders,  and  this  her  river,  that 
had  known  all  the  years  of  her  life.  And  there 
one  night  she  came,  as  though  in  answer  to  his 
longing. 

He  sat  huddled  on  the  pier,  clasping  his  knees 
and  smoking,  when  he  heard  someone  crossing 
the  bridge  behind  him.  He  had  rarely  been  dis 
turbed  by  pedestrians,  and  this  had  endeared  the 


HIGH   DECISION  453 

place  to  him.  He  turned  as  a  woman  emerged 
from  the  covered  way  into  the  moonlight;  and  his 
heart  knew  her  even  before  his  eyes. 

"Jean!" 

He  jumped  down  into  the  road  and  stood  uncov 
ered.  She  drew  away,  smothering  a  cry,  for  he 
was  not  the  Wayne  Craighill  she  had  seen  last  in 
his  sister's  house.  Toil  in  the  summer  heat  had 
trained  him  fine  and  his  beard  had  aged  him.  They 
gazed  at  each  other  long,  the  moonlight  flowing 
round  them;  then  their  hands  met. 

"I  might  have  known  it  would  be  here,"  she  said 
half  to  herself,  then  aloud:  "I  have  known  this 
place  always.  They  call  it  Golden  Bridge --we 
children  played  here,  and  I  used  to  sit  on  the  bank 
over  there  and  try  to  draw  the  bridge." 

They  stood  leaning  on  the  stone  barrier.  She 
was  hatless  and  dressed  in  white  —  the  gown  spoke 
of  her  new  life. 

"I  just  came  this  afternoon,  and  I'm  staying  with 
friends    until   I    can  sell  the  house  —  grandfather's 
cottage ;   it's  mine  now.     I  have  work  to  do  here  - 
I  kept  my  breaker  boys  until  the  last." 

The  mention  of  her  grandfather  sent  his  memory 
clanging  back  to  that  dark  night  of  Andrew  Gregory's 
death;  but  she  seemed  happy  —  it  was  her  "country" 
and  she  was  at  home. 

"I  must  go  back.  I  came  out  here  for  old  times' 
sake,  and  I'm  glad  I  saw  you  here  first.  I  knew 
you  were  in  Denbeigh." 

"How  did  you  know?" 


454  THE   LORDS   OF 

"Joe  wrote  me.  He  told  me  what  you  were 
doing  —  the  hard  work,  and  all  about  it.  I  wrote 
to  him  first  —  I  wanted  him  to  know  that  my  going 
away  to  do  the  pictures  made  no  difference,  that 
I  still  felt  bound  to  him,  and  that  I  was  ready  to 
marry  him  at  any  time." 

Her  contact  with  the  world  had  not,  then,  changed 
her  feeling  about  Joe,  as  he  had  hoped  it  might. 
They  turned  toward  town  and  she  walked  beside 
him,  with  her  free  stride,  her  shoulders  erect,  her 
head  high. 

"We  have  never  mentioned  you  —  Joe  and  I  - 
not  even  when  we  came  here.  I  came  because 
you  have  lived  here;  I  look  up  at  these  hills  of  yours 
every  morning  and  feel  that  I  am  among  friends. 
And  they  have  helped  me.  It  is  because  of  you  that 
I  am  here,  Jean.  I  couldn't  do  what  I  am  doing 
here  if  it  were  not  for  you." 

"Please  —  you  mustn't  say  that!" 

He  bent  his  head  stubbornly;  but  he  knew  that 
he  must  respect  the  line  she  had  drawn  between 
them. 

"You  didn't  go  to  Mr.  Walsh?  I  thought  you 
had  made  up  your  mind  to  do  that." 

"I  changed  it;  the  evil  got  into  me  again.  I 
was  not  ready.  I  haven't  got  the  devil  out  of  my 
system,  but  the  load's  a  little  lighter.  I  can  get 
face  to  face  with  myself  now  occasionally  —  and 
that's  something  I  hadn't  done  before.  The  face 
has  changed  a  little,"  he  laughed.  "I  hardly  know 
myself  outwardly." 


HIGH   DECISION  455 

His  dress  was  that  of  the  poorest  labourer;  he 
was  coatless  and  carried  his  cheap  cap  in  his 
hand. 

"Nobody  knows  me  here;  I'm  always  forgetting 
whether  I'm  Smith  or  Jones.  Joe  allayed  all  sus 
picions  --he's  been  good  to  me." 

"Joe  is  a  good  boy;    he  was  always  that." 

"Jean!" 

He  had  paused  in  the  road  and  the  despair 
Joe's  name  had  awakened  in  his  heart  was  in 
his  cry. 

"He  will  never  let  you  do  it --you  don't  believe 
yourself  that  he  will  take  you  at  your  word.  Won't 
you  give  me  my  chance?" 

"No!     No!" 

'You  don't  love  him --you  don't  care  for  him, 
Jean." 

'That  isn't  it  —  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  it. 
I  treated  him  cruelly,  heartlessly,  and  it's  no  question 
now  of  whether  I  care  for  him  or  not." 

"If  he's  said  his  last  wrord,  that  means  that  he 
doesn't  care  —  he  doesn't  realize  how  much  you  are 
offering  him." 

"  You  are  not  just  to  him ;  he  understands  it  — 
everything  —  and  he  cares  —  that's  what  makes  it 
so  hard!" 

She  ceased  speaking  and  walked  away  a  little 
and  stood  with  hands  clenched,  as  she  tried  to 
control  the  deep  feeling  that  possessed  her.  He 
waited,  not  understanding;  but  the  light  broke  upon 
him  suddenlv. 


456  THE   LORDS   OF 

"  Does  he  know  about  you  and  me,  Jean  ?  Is 
that  the  reason?" 

"Oh,  why  do  you  ask  me  that?"  she  cried, 
answering  by  the  evasion.  'That  hurt  me  more 
than  anything  else  when  he  was  so  sick;  I 
talked  to  him  just  before  he  left  the  parish  house, 
and  he  was  ill  and  weak,  and  I  told  him  I 
was  ready;  but  he  wouldn't  do  it --he  wouldn't 
come  back  because  of  you.  You  don't  under 
stand  how  he  loves  you;  how  you  are  his  great 
hero;  how  humbly  he  serves  you.  He  would  die 
for  you.  He  wrote  to  me  about  it  while  I  was 
away -- letters  that  wrung  my  heart --they  were 
all  of  you,  how  you  were  fighting  to  master  your 
self;  and  he  was  so  proud  of  you  for  going  to 
work  here  at  the  mines.  I  wouldn't  tell  you  this, 
only  I  don't  want  you  to  think  of  him  so  contemptu 
ously,  as  something  to  be  lightly  flung  aside.  He 
loves  me  in  his  foolish,  boyish  way  as  he  always 
did  from  the  time  we  were  children;  but  he  loves 
you  more;  it's  because  of  you  that  he  never 
wavers  in  his  refusal  to  take  me  back.  I  tell  you 
this  because  I  want  you  to  appreciate  him  - 
what  he  has  done  for  you --what  he  would  do  for 
you  and  me." 

He  was  touched,  but  not  greatly,  by  what  she 
said.  Joe's  nobility  was  admirable  enough  —  but 
it  did  not  ease  Wayne's  burden  or  brighten  his  hope. 
His  impatience  of  restraint  —  lulled  for  a  time  by 
hard  labour  —  flashed  up  like  a  fiery  torch  in  his 

I  V 

heart. 


HIGH   DECISION  457 

She  talked  now  of  her  work,  and  of  the  places 
she  had  visited,  winning  and  holding  his  interest. 

"The  best  time  I  had  was  in  the  South.  I  went 
to  some  of  the  cotton-mill  towns  in  North  Carolina, 
and  the  little  coloured  children  were  great  fun. 
But  they  were  harder  to  do.  They  want  me  to 
illustrate  a  children's  Christmas  book  as  soon  as 
this  is  done  —  I  suppose  if  I  go  on  I  shan't  come 
here  any  more.  Grandfather  was  my  only  tie  with 
the  place." 

"I  had  just  received  your  letter  about  him  the 
evening  your  grandfather  died.  I  had  intended 
doing  what  I  could,  but  my  father  had  trifled  with 
his  case  too  long,  and  Mr.  Gregory  was  at  the  house 
when  I  went  up  there  that  night.  I  had  gone  to 
the  house  for  the  last  time." 

"Why?" 

The  question  was  unlike  her,  and  he  started 
guiltily.  The  truth  about  her  grandfather's  death 
was  one  thing  she  must  never  know;  but  he  was 
reassured  at  once.  The  question  had  sprung  to 
her  lips  thoughtlessly. 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon!  I  didn't  mean  to  ask 
that." 

"It  was  inevitable.  We  irritated  each  other  more 
and  more,  and  then  the  break  came.  It  was  better 
that  I  should  not  go  back  any  more." 

"I'm  sorry  it  happened  that  way,"  she  replied. 

They  were  at  the  edge  of  the  town,  and  she  put 
out  her  hand. 

"I   am  glad   I  met  you   to-night  —  but  I  must 


458  THE   LORDS   OF 

not  see  you  again.  The  people  here  would  never 
understand  it.  But  it  pleases  me  that  you  came 
here;  it  brings  you"  she  hesitated-  "it  brings 
you  nearer,  some  way,  your  being  here  in  my 
country." 

"That's  why  I  came  —  because  it  is  your  country. 
We  were  at  Gettysburg,  Joe  and  I,  and  looking 
down  on  the  battlefield  where  men  had  died,  I 
thought  of  what  they  did  there,  and  that  brought 
back  what  you  had  said  about  labour;  so  I  started 
for  this  place,  knowing  that  if  I  could  win  my  way 
to  my  own  respect  anywhere  it  would  be  here.  And 
here  I  am,  and  I  shall  stay  a  while  longer.  Walsh 
will  take  me  when  I  want  to  go  -  -  but  I'm  not 
sure  of  myself  yet." 

"If  I  have  helped,  I  am  glad,"  she  said.  He 
had  kept  her  hand  while  he  spoke,  for  this  might 
be  a  long  good-bye;  and  she  laid  her  other  hand 
lightly  on  his,  an  instant  only,  but  his  whole  being 
tingled  at  the  contact. 

It  was  only  a  fleeting  touch  of  hands,  but 
they  were  nearer  that  moment  than  they  had 
ever  been  before.  They  had  gone  far  since  that 
autumn  afternoon  when  she  had  spurned  him 
indignantly  in  the  art  gallery  at  Pittsburg.  He 
lay  awake  until  past  midnight,  thinking  of  her. 
Strangely  enough,  in  spite  of  her  reaffirmed  obli 
gation  to  Joe,  she  seemed  less  unattainable,  more 
nearly  of  a  world  he  knew.  And  as  he  sought 
words  to  express  their  relation  to  each  other, 
they  took  this  form:  If  there  be,  as  men_say, 


HIGH   DECISION  459 

real  differences  that  power  and  place  and  wealth 
create  between  man  and  man,  she  might  never 
have  attained  to  the  station  to  which  he  was  born; 
but  by  the  sweat  of  his  face  he  had  climbed 
to  hers. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

TWO  OLD  FRIENDS  SEEK  WAYNE 

JOE,  swollen  with  pride  at  having  received  a 
telegram,  hurried  from  the  mine  to  the  station 
with  the  grime  of  the  pit  on  his  face  and  his  lamp 
still  flaring  in  his  cap.  He  grinned  cheerfully  at 
Walsh  and  Wingfield  as  they  stepped  from  the  train, 
the  worse  for  a  hot  afternoon  in  a  day  coach.  Wing- 
field  surveyed  the  town  with  his  habitual  austerity 
as  they  consulted  on  the  platform.  His  linen  had 
suffered  on  the  journey  and  he  was  conscious  of 
the  fact;  Walsh,  blowing  hard,  mopped  his  head 
freely.  The  heat  of  August  was  trying  and  no 
trifling  business  could  have  brought  these  gentlemen 
to  Denbeigh. 

'We  came  to  see  Mr.  Craighill;  we  want  to  do 
it  privately.  Can  you  fix  it?" 

"Sure  I  can!" 

"Understand,"  said  Wingfield,  "that  we  don't 
want  to  interfere  with  him  or  embarrass  him  in 
any  way.  He  doesn't  expect  us." 

Joe  commended  them  to  the  'bus  driver  and, 
conscious  of  the  dignity  conferred  upon  himself  by 
their  arrival,  hurried  off. 

They  passed  a  colliery  a  little  way  from  the 
station  and  the  visitors  turned  in  the  rumbling 

460 


THE   LORDS   OF  HIGH   DECISION    461 

omnibus  to  look  at  the  blackened  walls  of  the  roar 
ing  breaker.  And  they  saw,  driving  his  mule 
team  soberly  into  the  colliery  yard,  a  man  whose 
figure  at  once  arrested  their  attention.  Wayne 
Craighill,  bronzed,  bearded,  clad  in  jumper  and 
overalls,  a  cap  on  the  back  of  his  head,  had  finished 
his  day's  work,  and  was  returning  his  team  to  the 
colliery  stables.  The  pilgrims  stared  in  silence; 
then  they  turned  toward  each  other  slowly.  Wing- 
field's  face,  as  usual,  expressed  no  emotion;  Walsh 
grunted  "Um"  and  craned  his  neck  to  get  a  last 
view  of  the  disappearing  teamster  through  the  rear 
door  of  the  'bus.  His  thin  lips  smiled  a  trifle;  the 
appearance  of  Mr.  Wayne  Craighill  as  a  driver  of 
mules  seemed  not  to  have  displeased  Walsh.  Wing- 
field  read  the  advertisements  in  the  panels  over  the 
windows  and  said  nothing.  Life,  he  resolved  afresh, 
is  an  interesting  business. 

In  the  hotel  lavatory  he  made  the  acquaintance 
of  that  dark  scroll  of  our  democracy,  the  roller- 
towel.  He  was  afraid  not  to  use  it,  he  told  Walsh, 
for  fear  of  being  thought  haughty;  but  he  promised 
to  report  the  matter  to  a  Philadelphia  friend  of  his 
who  was  a  distinguished  sanitarian.  Joe,  honouring 
the  occasion  with  a  white  collar,  was  cooling  his 
heels  in  the  office  when  they  came  out  from  their 
supper,  which  had  been  suffered  gloomily  by  Wing- 
field,  whom  the  waitress  had  taken  for  the  advance 
agent  of  a  circus  billed  for  early  appearance  in 
Denbeigh.  This  idea  delighted  him,  and  he  con 
fided  to  her  that  he  had  no  tickets  with  him,  but 


462  THE   LORDS   OF 

that  she  should  not  go  unprovided  for;  he  was  only 
the  monkey  trainer,  he  confessed. 

There  was  a  little  park  about  the  court-house, 
and  thither  Joe  led  them  and  discreetly  disappeared. 
Wayne  rose  from  a  bench  and  greeted  them.  He 
had  donned  for  the  occasion  the  suit  in  which  he 
had  made  the  journey  from  home,  and  it  hung 
loosely  upon  him.  He  was  in  good  spirits  and 
greeted  them  cordially,  with  much  chaffing  of 
Wingfield  for  his  temerity  in  venturing  so  far  from 
his  beaten  trails.  In  a  few  minutes  Wingfield 
strolled  away;  it  was  Walsh,  then,  who  had  business 
with  him,  and  Wayne  settled  himself  to  listen  as 
the  old  fellow  plunged  characteristically  to  the 
heart  of  his  errand. 

'The  Colonel's  in  bad  shape.  Things  haven't 
improved  as  he  expected;  some  of  the  people  who 
helped  him  out  last  fall  won't  carry  him  any  longer. 
And  he's  sick,  too.  He's  a  good  deal  broken,  the 
Colonel  is.  I've  been  trying  to  help  him  —  spending 
an  hour  a  day  at  the  office  for  a  week  or  two." 

"I  like  that!     I  suppose  he  sent  for  you." 

"Don't  get  hot,  son;  it  makes  no  difference  if 
he  did.  You  want  to  cut  out  any  feeling  you  have 
against  your  father  —  it  ain't  like  you --it  never 
was  like  you.  He's  your  father;  his  blood's  in 
you,  and  he's  clear  down  now." 

Wayne  listened  in  dogged  silence  as  Walsh  went 
into  the  details  of  Roger  CraighilPs  affairs.  Much 
might  yet  be  saved,  Walsh  held,  if  this  new  crisis 
could  be  bridged.  Wayne  chafed  under  Walsh's 


HIGH   DECISION  463 

recital;  he  would  not  help  the  old  fellow  with  any 
expressions  of  sympathy;  but  Walsh  had  expected 
to  address  an  unsympathetic  ear,  and  he  told  his 
story  to  the  end. 

"What  I  want  you  to  do  is  to  go  home  and  give 
the  old  man  a  lift.  I  ain't  going  to  argue  it  with 
you.  Wingfield  and  I  start  back  at  ten  o'clock. 
If  you  do  anything  it  will  have  to  be  done  at  once. 
You  can  come  back  here  afterward  if  you  want  to. 
It  ain't  been  a  bad  place  for  you.  Think  it  over." 

He  lighted  a  cigar,  glanced  at  the  clock  tower, 
and  walked  away  to  find  Wingfield,  to  whom  Joe 
was  disclosing  the  marvels  of  his  native  city. 

Wayne  sat  gloomily  pondering  what  Walsh  had 
said.  Walsh's  own  magnanimity  in  having  gone 
to  his  father's  assistance  had  impressed  him.  The 
old  hostility  toward  his  father  had  lost  its  edge 
through  successive  defeats;  but  what  struck  Wayne 
to-night  was  the  fact  that  a  higher  law  of  compensa 
tion  than  any  within  his  grasp  had  taken  the  blade 
from  his  hands.  He  wondered  wrhether  it  were 
possible  that  the  ledger  of  life  is  self-balancing  — 
whether  in  our  own  efforts  to  bring  its  accounts 
into  agreement  we  can  do  more  than  confuse  the 
items  and  blot  the  leaf.  And  so  he  turned  it  over 
and  over  in  his  mind,  sitting  there  on  the  park 
bench,  with  the  street  sounds  of  the  town  drifting 
in  upon  him. 

Jean  crossed  the  park  on  her  way  to  the  post- 
office.  Wayne  sat  erect  as  he  recognized  her  tall 


464  THE   LORDS   OF 

figure  in  the  path.  The  light  of  an  electric  lamp 
swinging  among  the  trees  fell  full  upon  her,  but 
her  fine,  proud  carriage,  the  lifted  head  were  unmis 
takable.  His  lips  parted  to  call  her;  but  she  passed 
on  unconscious  of  his  nearness,  and  her  step  on  the 
cement  walk  died  away.  His  feeling  of  super 
stitious  belief  in  her  as  an  instrument  of  fate  quick 
ened,  giving  way  to  the  remembrance  of  her  owrn 
high  courage,  her  simple  belief  in  right  for  right's 
sake,  her  faith  that  good  may  somehow  come  to  all. 
He  knew  well  enough  what  she  would  say  if  he  put 
this  new  question  to  her.  He  sighed  and  struck 
his  hands  together,  and  went  to  tell  Walsh  that  he 
would  go  back  with  him. 

Wingfield's  story  that  Wayne  had  been  visiting 
a  friend  on  a  Western  ranch  served  admirably  to 
explain  his  absence  during  the  summer,  and  it 
accounted  also  for  his  rugged  appearance.  Both 
friends  found  the  man  they  journeyed  with  to  Pitts- 
burg  not  the  man  they  had  known  of  old  —  quieter, 
more  subdued,  more  given  to  wide-eyed  dreaming. 

Walsh  had  planned  various  moves  in  the  expecta 
tion  that  Wayne  would  not  refuse  him;  a  brief 
interview  at  the  Hercules  National  Bank;  a  visit 
to  the  safety  vault  where  Wayne  kept  his  securities; 
the  transfer  of  a  bundle  of  these  chosen  by  Walsh 
to  the  bank,  and  the  principal  business  was  done. 
Wayne  went  a  step  beyond  W'alsh's  expectations 
by  taking  up  his  father's  notes  aggregating  two 
hundred  thousand  dollars  in  several  other  institu- 


HIGH   DECISION  465 

tions,  and  gave  his  own  notes  to  which  he  pledged 
collateral  from  his  own  strong  box. 

"Is  that  all?"  asked  Wayne,  when  Walsh  had 
carried  him  down  to  the  mercantile  company  for 
a  smoke  and  talk.  "I'm  going  back  to  my  job; 
Joe's  sitting  on  it  for  me  till  I  come." 

"No,  that  isn't  all;  not  quite.  I  want  you  to 
go  up  and  see  the  Colonel.  I  want  you  to  tell  him 
what  you've  done." 

Wayne  fidgeted  in  his  chair. 

"Look  here,  Tom;  this  is  rubbing  it  in!  You 
think  what  we've  done  will  tide  him  over.  If  it 
does,  all  right;  I'm  not  going  up  there  to  ask  his 
blessing.  The  thought  of  the  house  makes  me 
sick." 

"Um!  I  want  you  to  go  up  there.  Things  ain't 
right  there.  The  Colonel  ain't  well;  he  hasn't  been 
himself  since  old  Gregory  died  there  - 

"I  shouldn't  think  he  would  be,"  snapped  Wayne. 
"He  wasn't  square  with  the  old  man.  I  wish  you 
hadn't  spoken  of  that." 

"Um!  And  the  little  woman  up  there's  troubled. 
She  ain't  happy.  It  would  help  them  both  a  lot  if 
you  would  see  them.  You  can  go  after  dinner  to 
night,  and  then  back  to  the  mines  for  you  if  you're 
happier  up  there.  But  I  wish  you  would  come  home 
now  and  take  your  desk  in  here.  You  see  I  had 
a  new  one  put  in  for  you  last  spring  when  I  thought 
it  was  all  fixed;  that's  the  key,  and  there's  your 
desk.  WThen  you  want  to  go  to  work  you'll  find 
the  key  hanging  here." 


466   THE   LORDS   OF  HIGH   DECISION 

Walsh  rolled  a  fat  cigar  in  his  mouth  and  pointed 
his  stubby  forefinger  at  the  key  suspended  from 
his  desk  lamp  by  a  piece  of  twine.  Sentiment  in 
Walsh  was  a  new  manifestation,  and  he  wore  it 
rather  shamefacedly.  He  went  to  the  outer  window 
of  his  glass  pilot-house  and  surveyed  the  scene  below. 

"You  there!"  he  bellowed. 

The  loading  of  a  dray  had  been  interrupted  by  a 
sparring- match  between  two  porters.  Walsh's  wrath 
descended  upon  them  furiously.  He  returned  to 
Wayne,  mopping  his  brow  and  lighted  a  cigar  to 
compose  himself. 

"I  guess  that's  all  I  got  to  say  to  you.  You  go 
up  and  see  the  Colonel.  Tell  him  what  you've  done 
for  him;  do  it  any  way  you  please,  and  do  it  now. 
I  guess  you  ain't  been  in  a  manicure  shop  lately, 
have  you,  son?" 

Wayne  laughed  and  held  out  his  scarred  hands 
for  inspection. 

"Um!  I  guess  that'll  take  the  foolishness  out 
of  you.  Now  clear  out  o'  here!  Can't  you  see  I 
got  to  sign  this  mail  ?  And  don't  you  come  back 
any  more  till  you're  ready  to  go  to  work!" 

He  rolled  his  chair  in  to  his  desk  with  much  puffing 
and  hid  himself  in  a  great  cloud  of  smoke  as  he 
grabbed  his  pen. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

WAYNE  VISITS  HIS  FATHER'S  HOUSE 

MOST  of  the  houses  in  the  neighbourhood  were 
deserted,  but  lights  shone  from  the  Craig- 
hill  library  as  Wayne  entered  the  grounds.  He  had 
his  latch-key,  but  he  was  not  sure  that  he  had  still 
the  right  to  use  it.  He  had  come  reluctantly,  and 
the  sight  of  the  house  did  not  intensify  his  zeal  for 
an  interview  with  his  father.  Near  the  hedge  that 
marked  one  of  the  Craighill  boundaries  stood  a 
rustic  summer  house.  It  had  been  a  favourite 
retreat  of  Wayne's  mother,  and  as  he  debated  afresh 
whether  he  should  see  his  father  he  left  the  path 
and  walked  toward  it.  His  step  on  the  grass  was 
noiseless.  As  he  stood  in  the  low  doorway  of  the 
little  house  Mrs.  Craighill  sprang  up  from  the  corner 
where  she  had  been  idling. 

"Oh,  Wayne,  have  you  come  back?" 
"I'm  back  unexpectedly,  and  only  for  the  night. 
How  are  you — how's  father?" 
He  groped  for  chairs  in  the  dark. 
"Your  father's  not  himself  at  all.     How  could  he 
ever  be  after  that?" 

"Let  us  not  talk  of  it.     I  didn't  come  for  that." 
"But — you  know  what  happened?"     Her  voice 
fell  to  a  whisper.     "He  let  the  doctors  pass  on  the 

467 


468  THE   LORDS   OF 

old  man's  death  —  and  said  nothing.     They  took  his 
word  for  it.     And  of  course  what  you  offered  to  do 
-  he  didn't  take  advantage  of  that." 

"He  didn't  have  to;  the  doctors'  verdict  made  it 
unnecessary.  And  so  we'll  never  know  just  what 
would  have  happened.  We'll  give  him  the  benefit 
of  the  doubt.  Well,  how  are  things  going?" 

"Your  father's  business  affairs  have  troubled  him. 

* 

He  never  talks  to  me  of  them,  but  I  know  he  worries. 
Mr.  Walsh  has  been  helping  him,  and  he  has  been 
very  kind  to  me,  too  —  in  many  ways.  Since  he 
began  to  help  your  father  he  has  come  to  the  house 
a  good  deal.  He  thinks  your  father  will  pull  out  in 
time;  he's  trying  to  get  the  dead  horses  out  of  the 
stable  —  that's  what  he  calls  the  poor  investments." 

"Tom  can  straighten  father  out  if  anybody  can. 
Has  father  spoken  of  me  since  that  night?" 

"No;    not  once." 

"Hasn't  mentioned  me  at  all?" 

"I'm  sorry,  but  he  hasn't,  Wayne." 

"Where's  Fanny?" 

"She's  at  York  Harbour.  She  was  terribly  cut 
up  over  your  going  away ;  but  Mr.  Walsh  knew  where 
you  were  all  the  time,  and  what  you  were  doing.  So 
he  told  me  and  I  told  her.  Your  man  Joe  kept  Mr. 
Walsh  posted." 

"He  did,  did  he?"  and  Wayne  laughed.  "I've 
been  at  work,  Addie.  I've  been  driving  mules  up 
there  in  the  anthracite  country  to  try  to  get  the  general 
cussedness  out  of  my  system.  I  haven't  tasted  a 
drop  of  anything  for  so  long  that  I've  forgotten  the 


HIGH   DECISION  469 

names  of  the  drinks  I  used  to  lap  up  so  abundantly. 
I  saw  a  trayful  of  cocktails  go  by  me  in  the  club 
to-night,  and  the  sight  of  them  tickled  my  throat  for 
a  minute,  but  I  poured  a  gallon  of  ice  water  into  the 
serpent  and  was  all  right.  As  soon  as  I'm  dead  sure 
I've  got  a  grip  on  myself  I'm  coming  back  to  go  into 
the  mercantile  company  with  Walsh." 

In  the  dim  light  of  the  summer  house  she  studied 
this  new  Wayne  Craighill,  puzzled  by  deeper  changes 
than  those  of  outward  person.  A  new  simplicity 
and  directness,  a  certain  self-confidence  and  definite- 
ness  of  aim  that  had  been  lacking  in  the  Wayne  she 
had  known  of  old  set  him  apart.  She  wished  to  let 
him  know  that  she  realized  the  wide  sweep  of  the 
change. 

"That  night,  that  awful  night  in  the  library,  you 
were  fine;   it  was  splendid  of  you  to  offer  to  take  - 
that  —  on  yourself.     I  have  thought  of  it  every  hour 
since." 

"Oh,  Addie,  Addie!  Please  never  speak  of  that! 
You  didn't  understand  it.  I  didn't  want  to  stand  in 
his  place  to  help  him,  but  to  punish  him.  I  hated 
him.  He  had  done  a  foul  thing  in  striking  old  Greg 
ory,  but  by  taking  the  blame  for  it  I  thought  I  should 
be  revenging  myself  on  him  —  my  own  father  —  that 
was  it.  You  see  my  mind  had  got  a  strange  twist  or 
I  should  never  have  thought  of  such  a  thing;  but 
when  the  opportunity  offered  there  that  night  I  was 
ready  for  it.  I  knew  that  if  once  he  let  the  moment 
pass  and  I  took  his  crime  on  my  own  shoulders,  I 
should  have  him  in  torture  all  the  rest  of  his  days. 


470  THE   LORDS   OF 

It  was  an  ugly  thought;  I  had  other  and  uglier 
thoughts  about  him,  but  I  hope  I'm  not  going  to  think 
that  sort  of  thing  any  more.  I've  got  half  a  grip  and 
I'm  going  to  try  to  hold  on." 

"Have  you  seen  Jean  Morley?"  she  asked  after  a 
silence.  He  did  not  know  that  this  question  had  been 
on  her  lips  from  the  moment  he  appeared. 

"Yes,  once;   to  talk  to  her." 

"Fanny's  asked  her  to  York;  she's  going  there 
for  September." 

"I'm  not  going  to  York  Harbour  now  or  in  Sep 
tember,"  he  answered  shortly. 

"But  don't  you  suppose  Fanny  expects  you  to 
come  while  Jean  is  there  ?  Fanny  has  been  crazy 
to  go  to  Denbeigh  to  see  you.  You  know  how 
perfectly  devoted  she  is  to  you." 

"  Yes ;  dear  old  Fanny !  It's  a  good  thing  she  didn't 
see  me  up  there.  It  would  have  given  her  a  stroke." 

"Fanny  is  fond  of  Jean  —  and  proud  of  her," 
Mrs.  Craighill  persisted,  and  her  note  was  plaintive. 
Her  presence  in  the  tea  house  at  that  hour  expressed 
her  isolation.  The  tone  in  which  she  had  spoken  of 
Jean  had  its  pathos  and  it  did  not  escape  him.  And 
the  remembrance  of  his  own  attitude  toward  her 
when  she  had  come  home,  his  father's  wife  --  his 
hope  that  he  might  make  her  the  instrument  of  his 
vengeance  upon  his  father,  wrenched  him  now.  This 
sudden  revulsion  brought  him  abruptly  to  his  feet. 

"I'm  going  in  to  speak  to  father.  You  needn't 
be  afraid  of  what  I  shall  say  to  him.  There  must  be 
peace  between  us  all." 


HIGH   DECISION  471 

She  was  near  to  tears,  and  she  was  loath  to  have 
him  go.  These  were  dreary  days  for  Adelaide  Craig- 
hill  ;  but  Wayne  had  eaten  of  the  fruit  of  the  tree  of 
wisdom  and  knew  the  danger  that  lies  in  woman's 
tears.  Their  hands  touched,  and  he  left  her. 

Colonel  Craighill  sat  empty-handed  by  the  library 
table,  staring  with  unseeing  eyes  at  the  wall.  He  did 
not  recognize  his  son  at  once  and  Mrs.  Craighill's 
intimations  had  not  prepared  Wayne  for  the  broken 
figure  before  him;  his  father's  rosy  complexion  had 
given  way  to  a  sick  pallor,  and  he  had  lost  flesh.  He 
sprang  to  his  feet  and  flung  round  with  a  pitiful  look 
of  fear  in  his  eyes. 

"Good  evening,  father.  I'm  sorry  I  startled  you; 
please  sit  down  again.  I  can  stay  only  a  few 
minutes." 

Colonel  Craighill  sank  back  into  his  chair --the 
big  leathern  seat  that  had  been  his  father's  as  long 
as  Wayne  could  remember. 

'You  have  been  away,  WTayne.  They  told  me  you 
had  been  West.  I  didn't  know  you  had  come  back." 

"I'm  back  for  only  a  short  time.  I  have  seen 
Walsh,  and  he  has  gone  over  your  affairs  with  me. 
He  is  sanguine  of  the  outcome  and  believes  that  you 
will  yet  save  a  good  part  of  your  estate.  I  don't 
mean  to  trouble  you  by  discussing  these  things  with 
you.  I  came  to  help." 

"The  banks  have  acted  ungenerously,"  flared  the 
Colonel.  "Men  I  had  thought  my  friends  have 
turned  against  me.  The  wrorst  of  the  depression 


472  THE   LORDS   OF 

passed  long  ago,  but  they  are  not  satisfied  to  carry 
me  until  I  can  make  a  turn." 

"I  understand  it  all  perfectly.  I  have  seen  the 
figures." 

"The  Hercules  National  people  have  pursued  me 
malevolently,"  continued  Colonel  Craighill,  his  voice 
wavering  as  his  anger  rose,  "and  the  others  have 
taken  their  cue  from  them.  Walsh  has  done  all  he 
could ;  but  they  are  a  lot  of  ingrates  -  -  when  I  have 
laboured  all  my  life  for  the  honour  and  dignity  of  the 
city." 

"Yes;  they  have  put  the  pressure  on  at  a  time 
when  it  seems  unnecessary;  but  they  are  all  disposed 
to  be  over-cautious  now,  I  suppose." 

"I  told  them  all  along  the  stringency  was  only 
temporary,  and  they  used  me  —  were  glad  to  use  my 
name  —  to  help  uphold  the  city's  credit;  and  now— 
now  - 

"Let  us  forget  all  that  for  a  minute,  father,"  said 
Wayne,  kindly.  "It's  about  these  loans  that  I  want 
to  speak  to  you.  Walsh  is  trying  to  save  the  good 
things  until  you  can  realize  on  them  to  advantage. 
The  notes  now  falling  due  will  be  cared  for." 

"No;  they  say  they  won't  renew  them!  And  my 
friends  elsewhere  refuse  to  help." 

"It  is  all  arranged,"  said  W7ayne  quietly.  "I 
have  taken  them  up  myself  and  given  my  own  in 
place  of  them.  You  may  be  at  ease  about  them.  I 
will  carry  them  as  long  as  you  want  me  to.  Here  are 
the  old  notes.  They  are  cancelled,  you  see." 

He  had  spoken  with  a  gentleness  he  had  never  used 


HIGH   DECISION  473 

to  any  being  before.  His  father's  helplessness  had 
disarmed  any  lingering  resentment;  he  faced  a  sadly 
decrepit  old  man  in  whom  there  was  no  spark  of  hope. 
Why  had  their  lives  been  so  irreconcilably  at  variance  ? 
In  the  Virginia  hills  and  at  Denbeigh  he  had  thought 
much  of  this.  Jean  had  helped  him;  Paddock 
and  Stoddard  had  lifted  and  urged  him  on ;  to  Walsh 
and  Wingfield  he  was  under  definite  obligations; 
and  Joe  —  even  Joe  --  had  made  sacrifices  for  him; 
but  his  father  had  never  dealt  with  him  as  an  individ 
ual,  but  rather  as  a  type.  Even  in  his  childhood 
they  had  never  met  on  any  common  ground.  He  had 
never  been  conscious  of  a  father's  faith  or  sympathy. 
His  father,  with  his  head  in  the  clouds,  had  merely 
stumbled  in  annoyance  over  his  son's  playthings. 

But  he  realized  now  that  life  nobly  lived  is  not  an 
affair  of  reprisal  and  vengeance,  or  even  of  measured 
reciprocity.  What  he  had  missed  through  his  father's 
vanity  and  selfishness  was  nothing  when  weighed 
against  this  new  experience  of  the  joy  of  giving  and 
serving. 

He  put  into  his  father's  hands  the  little  bundle  of 
notes  he  had  gathered  up  at  the  banks,  with  the 
cancellation  marks  stamped  upon  them.  Roger 
Craighill  gazed  at  them  dully.  His  mind  did  not 
at  once  comprehend  what  it  was  that  his  son  had 
done. 

"That  is  all  there  is  of  that,  but  there  is  something 
else  I  have  to  say.  You  are  my  father.  I  have  used 
you  ill;  I  have  brought  shame  upon  you,  and  in  my 
bitterness  against  you  I  have  sought  to  injure  you  — 


474   THE   LORDS   OF   HIGH   DECISION 

in  infamous  ways  that  I  won't  describe.  The  night 
old  Gregory  died  here  - 

Colonel  Craighill  lifted  his  head  quickly  and 
raised  his  hand  in  quite  his  old  authoritative  manner. 

"It  was  his  heart  —  the  autopsy  showed  it  had 
been  diseased  for  years.  I  insisted  on  the  most 
careful  examination!" 

"I  dare  say.  I  didn't  come  to  discuss  that.  That 
is  your  affair.  What  I  have  to  say  concerns  me  alone. 
When  I  offered  that  night  to  take  whatever  blame 
might  follow  his  death  here,  it  was  from  no  good  feel 
ings  toward  you,  but  in  a  spirit  of  evil.  I  wanted  to 
place  you  under  a  crushing  weight  of  shameful 
obligation  to  me  —  that  was  it.  And  I've  come 
back  to  say  that  I'm  sorry.  I'm  sorry  for  every  hour 
of  anxiety  and  shame  I  ever  gave  you.  Come, 
father,  let  us  be  friends!" 

Roger  Craighill  was  slow  to  comprehend  what 
had  happened.  He  tried  to  get  upon  his  feet,  and 
Wayne  caught  him  and  lifted  him  up,  his  arm  round 
his  father's  shoulders,  and  it  was  he  who  gave  the 
handclasp,  vigorous  and  strong  with  the  strength  of 
his  redeemed  manhood.  He  had  gone  low,  but  he 
had  risen  high.  He  who  had  been  of  the  companion 
ship  of  dragons  had  come  into  possession  of  his  own 
soul.  He  had  still  his  weaknesses,  and  he  might 
yet  stumble  and  fall;  but  for  an  instant  he  stood 
above  the  clouds,  master  of  himself  and  drinking 
deep  of  clean  airs  of  hope  and  aspiration. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

"THEY'RE  CALLIN'  STRIKES  ON  ME" 

JOE  avoided  Jean.  His  days  were  spent  under 
ground,  and  in  the  summer  evenings  when  he 
might  have  seen  her  with  little  trouble,  he  shunned 
walks  they  had  known  of  old  together.  He  heard 
that  she  had  sold  the  little  cottage  that  had  been  her 
only  inheritance  from  her  grandfather,  and  he  knew 
that  this  meant  the  severing  of  her  last  tie  with  the 
town.  The  community,  rejoicing  in  her  success, 
whispered  the  fabulous  terms  of  her  professional 
engagements. 

Jean,  with  her  trunk  packed,  had  yet  to  see  him 
before  leaving  the  valley,  and  he  appeared  at  the 
cottage  by  a  characteristic  inadvertence,  leaning  upon 
the  gate  as  she  closed  the  door  for  the  last  time. 

"Everybody's  sorry  you're  goin',  Jean;  but  I 
guess  you  got  to  pull  out.  You've  outgrown  the 
town  and  it's  you  for  the  large  cities  now." 

"I  have  to  go  where  my  work  is.  I'm  going  to 
share  another  woman's  studio  in  New  York  this  fall. 
I'm  going  first  to  visit  Mrs.  Blair  in  Maine." 

"Sure!  York's  the  place.  The  Blairs  always  go 
there,"  Joe  replied,  proud  of  his  inner  knowledge  of 
the  Craighills  and  their  ways.  "Walsh  and 
Whiskers  blew  in  yesterday  and  took  my  boss  to 

475 


476  THE   LORDS   OF 

Pittsburg.  He  said  he'd  be  back  in  a  day  or 
two.  He's  the  busy  little  worker  when  he  gets 
started." 

They  stood  with  a  new  restraint  upon  them  at  the 
gate  that  had  known  their  childhood  and  youth. 
Joe  saw  that  his  reference  to  Wayne  had  not  been 
fortunate,  and  he  twisted  his  cap  nervously. 

"He's  come  round  all  right,  Jean.  He's  pretty 
safe  from  the  drink  now.  He's  worked  it  off." 

"  He  can  do  anything  he  tries.  And  you've  done 
a  great  deal  to  help  him.  You  wouldn't  have 
come  back  to  the  mines  if  you  hadn't  thought  he 
needed  you." 

"Oh,  pshaw!  Jean.  But  I  guess  I  was  stuck  on 
him,  all  right,  or  I  wouldn't  have  come  back.  I  guess 
you  know  why  he  came  here  —  it  was  for  you.  And 
the  goin'  to  work  —  I  guessed  you  did  that,  too. 
It  listens  like  you,  Jean.  And  now  he's  made 
over  —  and  you  made  him.  I  want  you  to  be 
good  to  him." 

"He's  my  friend  and  yours  —  that's  all,  Joe,"  she 
said  firmly.  "I  may  not  be  in  Denbeigh  for  a  good 
while  but  I  want  to  tell  you  before  I  go  that  I'm  still 
ready  to  come  back  to  you.  If  you'll  give  me  another 
chance  I'll  do  my  best.  I  mean  it,  Joe,  with  all  my 
heart." 

"I  wish  you'd  stop  thinking  about  that  business. 
It  ain't  no  use,  Jean.  And  now  you  got  a  big  chance 
and  I'd  only  be  in  the  way.  You  don't  want  to  come 
back  —  not  honest  in  your  heart  you  don't;  you  just 
think  it's  right ;  and  Father  Jim  told  you  you  oughtn't 


HIGH   DECISION  477 

to  have  left  me  —  that  the  divorce  was  a  sin.  But 
you're  free  —  and  I'm  not  holding  you." 

"If  you  want  to  come  any  time  you  can  always 
find  out  where  I  am,"  she  said.  "I  shall  always  be 
ready." 

"He  came  here  because  you  had  lived  here.  I 
guess  I  know  him!  I  knew  that  when  we  started 
from  Gettysburg.  And  he's  workin'  now  to  please 
you.  You're  all  he's  got.  You  can  bet  he  wouldn't 
take  what  he's  takin'  -  the  work  and  the  boardin' 
house  diet  —  for  nothin'.  You  got  him  goin',  Jean; 
he  wants  you  to  see  that  he's  got  good  stuff  in  him. 
He's  fightin'  off  his  thirst  every  day;  that's  why  he 
walks  so  much  at  night.  I  don't  have  to  watch  him 
any  more  —  he's  got  a  grip  on  himself.  He  comes 
into  the  boardin'  house  after  everybody's  gone  to 
bed  and  tumbles  down  in  his  bunk  so  dead  tired  he 
don't  hear  nothin'  till  the  old  woman  beats  the  tin 
pan.  You  ought  to  be  proud,  Jean,  that  a  man  like 
him's  doin'  this  for  you." 

"Mr.  Craighill's  a  good  man;  he  doesn't  need  any 
help  from  me." 

"He's  the  real  gold,"  added  Joe,  "and  I  want  you 
to  be  good  to  him.  I  want  you  to  marry  him,  Jean." 

"Oh,  Joe!  Joe!"  she  cried  despairingly,  "don't 
speak  of  such  a  thing!  You  don't  know  how  foolish 
you  are  to  talk  so!" 

"I'm  sorry,  Jean,"  he  answered  humbly.  "I 
want  you  to  be  happy  —  and  him." 

He  bade  her  good-bye,  and  moved  away  dejectedly 
through  the  night.  Jean  went  to  the  house  of  the 


478  THE   LORDS   OF 

friends  with  whom  she  had  been  staying,  and  the 
next  morning  left  for  New  York. 

Joe  was  at  work  in  a  dark  cavern  of  the  Florence 
colliery  at  the  hour  of  her  departure.  With  his 
butty  and  their  two  labourers  he  had  gone  to  a 
far  corner  of  the  mine.  There  is  no  night  of  the 
outer  world  like  that  of  the  pit  beneath,  and  no 
atmosphere  like  that  of  the  moist  air  of  a  coal  mine. 
The  very  silences  have  their  own  profundity,  as 
though  heightened  by  the  weight  of  darkness. 
Sounds  of  blasting,  the  rumbling  of  mine  cars  in  the 
gangways,  the  click  of  tools  along  the  coal  measures 
—  these  and  kindred  sounds  have  an  eerie  and 
phantasmal  quality  in  the  great  dark.  Voices  are 
choked  and  muffled  when  men  speak,  and  speech  in 
the  coal  world  is  limited  to  essential  directions  and 
conferences;  laughter  is  rarely  heard.  Indeed,  a 
particular  gravity  marks  the  coal  miner,  and  he  does 
not  always  lose  it  when  he  emerges  into  sunlight. 
The  hazard  of  his  trade  and  the  gloom  in  which  he 
labours  under  the  crust  of  the  spinning  globe  numb 
any  joy  he  might  take  in  his  own  skill. 

This  life  in  the  earth  was  not  to  Joe's  liking,  and 
he  had  never  expected  to  return  to  it.  Love  of  Wayne 
Craighill  alone  had  brought  him  back  to  the  pit; 
otherwise  the  pitcher's  box  or  a  chauffeur's  seat 
would  have  claimed  him.  And  to-day,  with  Jean 
vanishing  into  an  unknown  world  and  Wayne  in 
Pittsburg,  whence  —  there  was  no  telling  —  he  might 
not  return,  Joe's  outlook  on  life  partook  of  the  sur- 


HIGH   DECISION  479 

rounding  gloom,  and  he  was  disposed  to  deal  severely 
with  his  labourer,  a  clumsy  Austrian  who  was  forever 
getting  in  the  way  and  mislaying  tools.  Joe  was  a 
skilled  hand,  which  is  to  say  that  he  knew  the  hun 
dred  and  one  things  that  expert  miners  know,  and 
the  trick  of  clean,  expeditious  and  safe  mining.  His 
"shots"  were  lucky  this  morning,  and  by  noon  he 
had  shaken  down  his  required  tonnage. 

As  he  waited  for  his  butty  to  finish,  Joe  lounged 
down  the  gangway.  He  was  a  social  being  and  he 
found  solace  in  watching  the  twinkling  lamps  of 
other  workmen  along  the  black  corridor. 

Craig,  the  engineer,  and  the  fire  boss  passed  on  a 
round  of  inspection  and  asked  him  if  he  had  seen 
any  fresh  traces  of  squeezing  or  of  gas.  Both  had 
been  observed  lately  in  the  colliery,  and  it  had  even 
been  said  that  a  general  subsidence  was  in  progress 
throughout  the  wide,  honeycombed  acreage  of  the 
Florence  property.  In  every  great  colliery  there  are 
frequent  disquieting  rumours,  and  a  collapse  rarely 
comes  without  intimations  familiar  to  the  sophisti 
cated  eye  and  ear,  and  Joe  was  not  alarmed. 

He  confirmed  the  fears  of  the  engineer  to-day  by 
his  own  testimony.  The  "working"  of  the  pillars  in 
his  own  neighbourhood  had  increased  within  twenty- 
four  hours,  as  marked  by  chipping.  The  vein  above, 
which  was  mined  simultaneously,  was  crowding  the 
supports  of  the  lower  vein;  in  remoter  places  there 
had  been  complete  subsidence.  A  car-load  of 
timbers  roared  by,  sent  forward  to  prop  the  roof  at 
points  where  the  danger  had  become  acute.  The 


480  THE   LORDS   OF 

explosion  of  his  butty's  last  shot  boomed  dully 
behind,  and  Joe  continued  on  a  little  farther.  There 
was  a  feeling  of  panic  in  the  air.  Men  hurried  by 
in  the  gloom,  talking  excitedly,  but  he  felt  no  fear; 
his  experience  of  a  larger  world  had  made  him 
impatient  of  the  ignorance  of  many  of  the  men  who 
spent  their  time  delving  underground.  Most  of 
their  accidents  were  due,  he  knew,  to  their  own 
carelessness.  He  would  himself  take  a  look  at  the 
farther  workings  where  the  squeeze  had  become  criti 
cal.  A  trip  of  cars  bearing  a  timber  gang  rumbled 
by.  He  hugged  the  wall  to  allow  it  to  pass,  and 
yelled  at  the  retreating  workmen  derisively.  His 
curiosity  was  now  piqued,  and  he  went  on,  in  the 
conceit  of  his  own  superior  wisdom,  toward  the 
centre  of  the  disturbed  area. 

A  foreman  with  a  crowd  of  men  at  his  heels  went 
by  at  a  run,  but  he  chaffed  them  on  their  alarm. 
They  had  been  ordered  out,  he  had  learned,  by  the 
engineer. 

'There's  some  men  working  in  the  new  gangway 
back  there!"  one  of  the  panic-stricken  miners 
shouted. 

"I'll  get  'em  out!"  cried  Joe.  "Give  me  that 
lamp." 

He  exchanged  caps  with  a  man  who  had  a  safety 
lamp  and  ran  up  the  gangway.  He  began  to  realize 
that  the  alarm  was  not  without  reason.  He  paused 
once  and  sniffed  the  air,  and  held  his  lamp  to  the 
coal  wall  in  various  places,  without  finding  traces 
of  gas:  but  the  evidences  of  squeeze  became  more 


HIGH   DECISION  481 

and  more  apparent  as  he  penetrated  farther  into  the 
workings.  He  had  volunteered  to  get  the  men  out 
of  the  new  gangway,  and  he  was  now  intent  upon 
fulfilling  this  promise.  The  conditions  were  serious, 
but  the  overchanging  strata  might  adjust  themselves 
without  a  general  collapse;  or  even  if  the  catastrophe 
were  inevitable  it  might  not  come  for  days  or  weeks. 

He  had  reached  a  region  whose  lines  were  strange 
to  him,  and  the  cracking  and  splintering  were  more 
prevalent ;  but  the  flow  of  air  was  good  and  he  kept 
on.  He  saw  faint  lights  ahead,  the  lamps  of  the  men 
he  sought;  they  had  taken  warning  of  their  own 
senses  and  were  retreating  toward  the  shaft. 

"  We  left  a  man  back  there  —  a  fall  of  slate  caught 
him,"  shouted  one. 

"Don't  leave  him  in  there.  There's  plenty  of 
time,"  Joe  yelled;  but  they  scampered  by,  huddled 
together  in  their  fear. 

He  crowded  into  the  opening  of  the  new  gangway 
and  peered  about.  In  a  moment  he  heard  the  moans 
of  the  injured  man  and  crawled  to  where  he  lay. 
His  body  was  half  covered  by  debris,  and  hearing  Joe 
he  cried  out  in  a  strange  tongue  for  help.  A  great 
slab  of  slate  lay  across  his  back,  and  this  Joe  pro 
ceeded  to  lift  by  the  aid  of  a  crowbar.  The  sounds  of 
the  straining  of  the  crust  grew  less  ominous  for  a  time, 
and  as  Joe  strove  to  free  the  prisoner  he  had  no  fear 
of  being  unable  to  escape.  So  long  as  the  gangway 
was  not  blocked  by  falling  rock  and  the  air  supply 
continued  good,  it  would  be  merely  a  matter  of  time 
to  reach  the  shaft  and  safety. 


482  THE   LORDS   OF 

Perhaps  ten  minutes  passed  before  he  had  moved 
the  heavy  slate,  but  when  the  miner  was  quite  free 
he  could  not  rise,  and  when  Joe  had  lifted  him  to  his 
feet  his  legs  seemed  paralyzed.  He  was  an  old  man 
-  a  Pole  --  who  begged  Joe  in  his  meagre  English 
not  to  leave  him. 

"You  can't  walk,  partner;  I  guess  you  got  to  ride 
out,"  said  Joe.  He  got  down  on  his  knees  and  drew 
the  crippled  miner  across  his  back,  supporting  him 
by  the  legs,  and  crawled  out  into  the  main  gangway. 
It  was  as  dark  as  pitch,  and  the  oppressive  silence 
continued;  there  was  in  it  now  something  unearthly 
that  struck  Joe  ominously,  but  he  hurried  with  his 
burden  down  the  long  tunnel.  He  could  stand 
nearly  upright,  but  the  tramway  was  rough  and 
covered  with  particles  of  coal,  and  his  progress  was 
slow.  He  was  aware  that  the  clasp  of  the  injured 
man's  arms  on  his  shoulders  relaxed  suddenly,  and 
as,  with  the  loss  of  his  hold  his  body  slipped  back, 
Joe  laid  him  down  in  the  tramway  and  held  the  lamp 
to  his  face.  The  man  was  quite  dead. 

Satisfied  of  this,  Joe  sprang  to  his  feet  and  on  the 
instant  the  walls  of  the  earth  about  him  shook  with 
a  mighty  commotion.  Just  behind  him  the  tunnel 
shut  with  a  sharp  snap  as  of  a  monster's  jaws,  and 
the  expelled  air  swept  by  him  like  a  hurricane, 
knocking  him  down,  and  he  lay  very  still,  with  his 
face  to  the  ground,  expecting  an  inflow  of  gas  or  an 
explosion.  He  judged  from  the  sound  that  the 
collapse  had  occurred  some  distance  behind  him,  and 
as  he  lay  coughing  in  the  dust  he  heard  the  thunder 


HIGH   DECISION  483 

and  rumble  of  other  convulsions  of  the  earth  at  more 
remote  points.  The  driving  blast  of  air  had  extin 
guished  his  lamp  but  he  thrust  out  his  hands  and 
found  himself  quite  free.  He  had  lost  his  sense  of 
direction,  but  crawled  along  the  tramway  to  the  body 
of  the  dead  miner  and  got  his  bearings  and  again 
started  toward  the  shaft.  He  had  gone  about  forty 
yards  \vhen  he  began  stumbling  upon  debris;  in 
ten  yards  more  a  wall  of  rock  and  slate  rose 
before  him. 

He  missed,  now,  the  current  of  sweet  air  that  had 
seemed  to  continue  after  the  first  shock,  and  he 
suddenly  felt  the  bite  of  the  dread  gas  in  his  nostrils. 
He  threw  himself  flat  and  \vaited,  his  face  pressed 
against  his  coat  sleeve.  Waves  of  the  foul  air 
poured  in  upon  him  from  all  sides  of  the  black, 
narrow  chamber  that  imprisoned  him.  He  staggered 
to  his  feet  and  beat  with  his  hands  on  the  grim 
barricade.  His  ears  rang  with  a  horrible  fierce 
clamour;  before  his  eyes  in  the  dense  dark  flashed 
lights  in  weird,  fantastic  and  unimaginable  colours. 

'They're  callin'  strikes  on  me,"  he  muttered,  and 
blinded,  choking  and  fighting  for  breath  he  began 
crawling  back  —  back,  as  though  from  that  smother 
ing  poison  there  could  be  any  retreat. 

Stories  of  the  catastrophe  met  Wayne  on  his  way  up 
the  valley,  though  it  was  said  that  no  lives  had  been 
lost ;  but  when  he  reached  Denbeigh  the  officials  had 
checked  their  pay-rolls  and  Joe  and  the  Pole  were 
the  only  miners  not  accounted  for.  No  one  doubted 


484  THE   LORDS   OF 

that  both  had  perished.  Repeated  efforts  had  already 
been  made  to  penetrate  into  the  mine,  and  volunteers 
were  not  lacking.  Joe  had  been  popular  with  all 
classes  and  the  fact  that  he  had  turned  his  back  on 
safety  to  succour  a  fallen  comrade  added  poignancy 
to  the  general  sorrow. 

A  huge  crowd  stood  helplessly  about  the  silent 
breaker,  and  when  he  had  gathered  the  latest  news 
Wayne  sought  Craig  at  the  superintendent's  office, 
where  the  mine  officials  were  conferring  with  the 
State  inspectors,  and  made  himself  known.  It 
was  not  a  time  for  explanations;  Wayne  bent  with 
them  over  the  blue-prints  of  the  workings. 

"We'll  try  getting  in  through  the  upper  slope  as 
soon  as  it's  safe,"  said  the  engineer.  "It's  all  to  the 
bad  down  there  —  I've  gone  myself  as  far  as  possible, 
and  some  of  my  men  were  knocked  out  by  the  gas 
and  had  to  be  carried  out." 

"But  the  men  may  be  alive  —  and  one  of  them  is 
my  friend." 

The  engineer  looked  at  Craighill  curiously.  This 
was  not  the  Wayne  Craighill  he  remembered  from 
his  days  at  the  "Tech,"  and  not  the  man  he  had 
heard  of  from  time  to  time  as  dissolute  and  worthless. 
But  Wayne  had  taken  his  own  courses  at  the  Institute, 
and  on  technical  matters  used  the  terminology  of 
the  mines;  but  the  engineer  shook  his  head  at 
Wayne's  suggestions.  They  were  interesting,  but 
impracticable.  The  small  loss  of  life  was  miracu 
lous,  considering  the  extent  of  the  collapse;  there 
was  much  cause  for  gratitude,  and  the  engineer's 


HIGH   DECISION  485 

chief  concern,  it  was  clear,  was  to  save  the  property 
of  his  employers. 

" There  are  two  men  down  there;  they  may  not 
be  dead,"  Wayne  insisted. 

"If  they  weren't  crushed  to  death,  they  have  been 
smothered  by  gas  or  maybe  drowned,"  declared  the 
engineer. 

:<  Work  only  from  the  upper  slope  --  turn  every  air 
fan  you  can  get  in  there  —  every  fan  in  the  valley,  if 
necessary,  and  you  can  do  it.  Those  men  must  be 
about  there,"  and  he  indicated  a  point  on  the  blue 
print.  "From  the  stories  of  the  men  who  met  Joe 
going  toward  the  new  gangway  you  can  hit  pretty 
close  to  the  place  where  the  fall  stopped  him." 

"But  it  might  be  weeks." 

"So  it  might.  I  will  do  it  in  less  time  if  you  will 
help  me." 

"But  the  cost  of  doing  it  your  way  - 

"I  will  pay  for  it  myself." 

"My  superiors  - 

"  I  will  attend  to  them.  I  will  pay  the  bills.  Get 
every  man  you  can  use  and  every  fan  and  pump  in 
the  district." 

A  big  price  to  pay  for  the  bodies  of  two  dead  men, 
they  said  in  the  valley  when  the  work  had  been 
begun ;  and  the  miners  who  had  seen  the  big  teamster 
patiently  going  about  his  work  a  few  days  before  did 
not  understand  at  once  how  he  had  become  a  leading 
figure  in  the  place  —  commanding,  directing,  himself 
labouring  ceaselessly,  to  gain  ingress  to  the  huge, 
black,  poisonous  cavern. 


486  THE   LORDS   OF  HIGH   DECISION 

It  was  not  until  the  fifth  day  that  they  broke  into 
the  barricade  of  the  lower  slope,  whose  walls  still 
menaced,  and  where  wholesome  air  could  only  be 
coaxed  by  prodigious  effort;  and  Wayne  was  first 
of  all  into  the  tomb  where  Joe  had  died.  He  found 
him  lying  with  one  arm  thrown  across  the  body  of 
the  broken-backed  Pole  he  had  tried  to  save.  It 
seemed  that  in  the  hour  of  his  death  he  had  thus 
sought  companionship  —  Joe,  who  had  loved  light 
and  life  and  the  ways  of  cities  and  the  haunts  of  men. 

Men  came  from  far  to  do  honour  to  the  poor, 
blackened  body  of  Joe  Denny,  who  had  come  into 
kinship  with  all  heroic  dead,  and  they  buried  him 
-it  was  Wayne's  idea  —  beside  the  friendless  Pole 
in  the  fairest  spot  the  town  commanded.  Mrs. 
Blair  came  with  Jean,  and  Walsh  and  Wingfield  were 
there,  too  —  and  Paddock  read  the  office  for  the  dead. 
But  this  was  not  enough,  and  at  the  end  the  minister 
stood  beside  Joe's  grave  and  spoke  to  the  great  throng 
of  the  beauty  of  the  life  that  had  gone  out,  of  the 
nobility  of  its  sacrifice  and  the  glory  of  it,  so  that 
eyes  were  wet  that  had  never  known  tears.  And 
when  he  had  finished,  as  the  sun  dipped  low  behind 
the  hills,  he  raised  his  hands  above  the  crowd  and 
blessed  them,  and  it  seemed  that  a  great  peace  fell 
upon  the  world. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

WE    SEE  WALSH   AGAIN 

A  FORTNIGHT  later  Wayne  cut  the  twine 
that  held  the  key  of  his  desk  to  Walsh's 
lamp.  The  publicity  attending  his  search  for  Joe 
at  Denbeigh  had  driven  him  away,  and  he  had  gone 
quietly  back  to  Pittsburg  and  taken  his  place  in 
the  glass  pilot-house  with  Walsh.  The  newspapers 
had  not  neglected  him;  he  had  spent  a  small 
fortune  at  the  Florence  colliery  in  securing  the 
body  of  a  young  miner  who  had  been  his  friend,  and 
the  event  was  not  without  its  spectacular  value. 
When  Wayne  left  Denbeigh  a  great  crowd  gathered 
at  the  station  and  cheered  him,  and  there  was  no 
suppressing  this;  and  the  shame  of  it  was  that  he 
could  not  explain  to  a  public  anxious  to  praise  him 
the  truth  about  Joe's  death  -  -  that  it  was  only 
through  loyalty  to  himself  that  Joe  had  gone  back 
to  Denbeigh  and  donned  again  the  miner's  cap  — 
that  Joe  had  sunk  his  own  aims  to  serve  and  guard 
and  protect  him. 

Wayne  had  taken  a  room  at  the  Allequippa  Club 
and  lodged  next  to  Walsh.  He  had  visited  his 
father  both  at  his  office  and  at  home,  and  he  knew 
from  Walsh  that  the  outlook  for  the  Craighill  interests 
was  brightening  daily. 

487 


488  THE   LORDS   OF 

A  few  days  after  his  return  Wayne  dined  at  the 
Club  with  Walsh  and  Wingfield.  Wingfield  was 
almost  insufferably  arrogant  now  that  Wayne  had 
become  a  hero,  and  he  took  occasion  to  snub  persons 
who  had  never  seen  anything  in  Wayne  but  the 
dissolute  son  of  a  distinguished  father,  and  who 
now  declared  that  Wayne  was  a  good  fellow,  but 
that  he  had  been  his  own  worst  enemy  --  and  so  on. 
It  pleased  Wingfield  to  have  men  ask  him  for  the 
facts  touching  Wayne's  recent  exile,  and  on  all 
inquiries  he  turned  his  eye-glasses  coldly.  People 
who  had  been  prone  to  kick  Wayne  need  not  trouble 
themselves  to  praise  him  now  -  -  this  was  all  they 
got  out  of  Dick  Wingfield  as  he  sipped  koumiss 
in  his  particular  corner  of  the  Allequippa  smoking 
room,  and  studied  the  men  of  Pittsburg  with  a  mild 
and  philosophic  eye. 

As  they  drank  their  coffee  to-night  a  telegram  was 
handed  Walsh.  He  read  it  slowly. 

"Um!  I  got  to  go  up  to  your  father's,"  he  said, 
and  left  them  a  few  minutes  later. 

'That  man's  my  despair!"  sighed  Wingfield 
after  Walsh's  stout  figure  had  vanished  through 
the  door.  "I'd  give  a  good  deal  to  be  able  to  carry 
off  the  mysterious  as  Tom  does.  With  most  of 
us  life  is  just  one  long  explanation;  Tom  never 
explains  anything  —  he  just  says  'Um!'  and  lets  us 
guess." 

Wayne  smiled.  He  was  again  clean-shaven,  as 
we  knew  him  first,  and  he  was  lean  and  rugged. 

"I  don't  think  Tom  can  teach  you  anything,  Dick, 


HIGH  DECISION  489 

but  what  a  dear  old  brick  he  is!  His  ways  at  the 
office  would  tickle  you;  he  thinks  the  hands  are 
all  in  mortal  terror  of  him,  but  they're  not  -  -  they 
love  him  most  when  he  roars  the  loudest." 

Walsh  took  a  trolley  to  the  East  End,  and  was 
soon  asking  for  Mrs.  Craighill.  She  sent  word 
that  she  would  be  down  in  a  moment,  but  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  passed  before  she  appeared.  Walsh  sat 
grimly  waiting;  once  or  twice  he  drew  the  telegram 
from  his  pocket  and  scanned  it  impassively.  He 
was  so  lost  in  thought  that  he  did  not  hear  her  light 
step,  and  he  stumbled  awkwardly  to  his  feet  as  she 
stood  before  him.  She  had  been  weeping,  and  the 
smile  she  gave  him  was  not  without  its  tears.  He 
did  not  know  that  for  an  hour  she  had  hoped  he 
would  come,  or  that  his  presence  gave  her  a  sense 
of  mingled  trust  and  fear.  Ever  since  the  day  of 
the  sleigh-ride  thoughts  of  him  had  tantalized 
her;  his  kindness  to  her  husband,  of  which  she 
had  been  aware,  had  puzzled  her  --he  had  visited 
the  house  often  for  conferences  with  his  former 
chief. 

"I  didn't  come  to  see  the  Colonel  this  time;  I 
want  to  see  you  alone,  Mrs.  Craighill." 

"He  went  to  his  office  after  dinner;  we  shall  not 
be  interrupted." 

"It's  an  unhappy  business  that  brings  me  here." 

Her  heart  beat  fast,  assailed  by  vague  premoni 
tions. 

'Your   mother   died    to-day,    quite   suddenly,    at 
Burlington.     You  had  heard  of  it  ?  " 


490  THE   LORDS   OF 

"Yes  —  to-night,  only  a  little  while  ago,"  she 
faltered. 

"You    probably    wondered,    that    afternoon    we 
drove  in  the  park,  what  I  knew  of  her.     I  did  not 
tell  you  then;  there  was  no  use  in  it.     I  knew  what 
troubled  you,  and  I  told  you  I  would  help  you  - 
and  I  did." 

"Yes  —  yes;  I  remember." 

He  sat  rigid  in  his  chair,  a  man  without  grace  of 
speech  or  person;  and  his  next  words  came  harshly, 
without  any  colour  of  feeling. 

"  She  was  my  wife ;  you  are  my  daughter. 
Your  name  is  Adelaide  Walsh.  Some  things  you 
probably  don't  know.  I  kept  a  livery  stable  in 
Burlington.  When  you  were  five  years  old  she 
ran  off  with  a  man  named  Pendleton.  I  didn't 
know  at  first  what  she  carried  you  away  for  --  but 
I  knew  later,  when  she  had  finished  with  Pendleton 
and  you  had  grown  up.  I  closed  out  the  business 
I  had  there  and  came  here;  but  I  kept  watching 
you.  I  sent  her  money  for  your  use  —  and  she 
lived  on  it.  There's  nothing  for  you  to  tell  me  — 
I  know  everything  you've  done  —  what  you've 
gone  through  —  the  whole  business.  I  might  have 
taken  you  away  from  her,  but  -  -  I'm  only  Tom 
Walsh;  I  wasn't  fit.  But  I  guess  she  didn't 
do  you  so  much  harm;  I  guess  you're  a  good 
woman." 

She  began  to   speak,  but  he  stumbled   on,   like 
a  stubborn  schoolboy  reciting  a  hard  lesson. 

"She's  dead  now,  and  there  ain't  nothing  to  say. 


HIGH   DECISION  491 

She  went  quick  and  we  don't  need  to  say  anything 
-  you  or  me.  I  guess  you  got  to  go  up  to 
Burlington,  and  I'll  meet  you  there.  I  reckon  the 
Colonel  ain't  likely  to  go --he'd  better  stay  here 
with  his  business.  It's  our  trouble -- yours  and 
mine/' 

"Oh,  why  didn't  you  tell  me!"  she  cried.  "I've 
needed  you  --  I've  needed  you  so  all  these  years!" 

"I  never  expected  to  tell  you.  It  was  all  too 
black,  too  ugly;  and  I  was  no  good;  but  knowing 
how  things  were  going  here  and  seeing  you  weren't 
very  happy,  I  thought  I'd  better  tell  you;  I 
thought  it  might  help.  I've  made  all  the  arrange 
ments  up  there  by  wire.  Don't  you  worry  about 
anything." 

He  had  risen  and  was  lumbering  toward  the  door 
before  she  realized  that  he  had  finished;  but  he 
paused  half  way,  and  rubbed  his  bald  head.  Then 
he  walked  back  to  her,  and  said  in  a  low  tone,  so 
that  she  hardly  caught  the  words: 

"You  don't  need  to  tell  anybody,  Adelaide,  that 
I'm  your  father.  It  wouldn't  do  you  any  good;  I'm 
just  old  Tom  Walsh  and  most  of  the  folks  around 
here  don't  like  me.  Better  not  tell  the  Colonel, 
or  Wayne  or  any  of  'em;  it  wouldn't  help  you  any 
to  have  'em  know  you're  my  daughter." 

"Oh!  —  oh!"  she  sobbed;  and  her  arms  were 
about  him,  holding  him  fast. 

He  had  said  truly  that  the  past  held  nothing  that 
was  not  better  left  to  silence;  but  she  knew  that  her 
life,  which  had  been  the  sport  of  winds,  had  at 


492  THE  LORDS   OF  HIGH  DECISION 

last  found  anchorage.     He  touched  her  hair  clumsily 
with  his  heavy  hands. 

' You're  a  good  woman,  Addie;  you're  a  good 
woman,"  he  kept  repeating,  and  this  seemed  all 
that  he  could  say. 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE  BELATED  APPEARANCE  OF  JOHN 
McCANDLESS    BLAIR 

THE  calendar  swings  us  almost  into  contem 
poraneous  history.  It  is  September  of  the 
Year  of  our  Lord  Nineteen  Hundred  and  Nine. 
Mrs.  John  McCandless  Blair's  excuse  for  returning 
to  town  so  early  was  the  dilatoriness  of  the  workmen 
who  were  making  over  her  house.  It  had  been 
remodelled,  so  often  that  only  her  own  ingenuity 
could  have  devised  further  changes,  and  her  long- 
suffering  architect  shuddered  when  he  heard  her 
voice  on  the  telephone.  She  was  a  terror  to  con 
tractors,  and  even  plumbers  were  humble  before 
her.  Her  husband,  John  Blair  —  who  has  had  no 
chance  at  all  in  this  chronicle  for  the  simple  reason 
that  he  wras,  in  all  matters  that  engaged  his  wife's 
attention,  a  negligible  quantity  —  had  thought  her 
safe  at  York  Harbour  until  the  first  of  October. 
As  one  motive  was  never  enough  to  assign  for  any 
of  Mrs.  Blair's  actions,  her  husband  waited  patiently 
for  the  disclosure  of  the  real  cause  of  her  coming. 
He  was  a  philosopher,  and  her  appearance  did  not 
interrupt  his  work  on  the  brief  he  was  writing;  but 
he  was  sorry  for  the  architect,  wiio  was  a  friend  of  his. 
Wayne  was  at  home,  and  he  and  Wingfield  were 

493 


494  THE   LORDS   OF 

teaching  Walsh  to  play  golf,  and  Pittsburg  had 
hardly  seen  anything  funnier  than  this.  Colonel 
Craighill,  who  was  quite  himself  again,  was  with  Mrs. 
Craighill  in  the  Berkshires,  at  a  point  convenient 
to  Williamstown,  where  there  was  to  be  a  meeting  of 
the  executive  committee  of  Something  or  Other  a 
little  later.  People  had  been  saying  lately  that  the 
Colonel  was  a  different  man,  now  that  Wayne  had 
given  up  his  evil  ways;  but  Dick  Wlngfield  changed 
the  subject  when  Wayne's  reformation  was  broached. 
He  declared  that  Colonel  Craighill  would  be  in  the 
poorhouse  if  Tom  Walsh  had  not  fished  him  out 
of  bankruptcy.  But  Dick's  opinions  were  coloured 
by  his  prejudices;  and  besides,  he  never  knew  what 
Wayne  did  for  his  father  at  Walsh's  behest. 

John  Blair  was  staying  at  the  Country  Club, 
while  the  house  was  out  of  commission,  and  Mrs. 
Blair  joined  him  in  his  office  in  the  Craighill  Building 
for  the  motor  flight  to  Rosedale.  On  the  second 
afternoon  following  her  descent  she  broke  in  upon 
her  husband  at  mid-day,  ostensibly  to  go  to  luncheon 
with  him  in  the  ladies'  cafe  of  the  Allequippa,  but 
as  he  begged  her  not  to  disturb  the  open  volumes 
that  bristled  on  the  tables  and  chairs  of  his  private 
room,  he  was  aware  of  a  new  light  in  her  eye.  It 
was  hardly  twelve  o'clock,  and  Fanny  did  not 
usually  care  for  luncheon.  Blair  made  a  place  for 
her,  and  waited. 

"Jean  Morley's  coming.  She'll  be  in  at  four 
< /clock.  Poor  girl!  She's  been  out  in  New  Mexico 
in  all  this  heat,  doing  pictures  of  Indians.  I've 


HIGH   DECISION  495 

been  wiring  her  aboard  trains  for  two  days  to  meet 
me  here,  and  I  just  now  heard  from  her." 

Blair  carefully  marked  his  place  in  "Dillon  on 
Municipal  Corporations"  and  sighed. 

"So  that's  it,  is  it  Fanny?  I  wondered  what  on 
earth  brought  you  to  town  just  now." 

;'What  are  you  talking  about!"  she  demanded. 

John  McCandless  Blair  received  large  sums  from 
corporations  for  anticipating  the  movements  of 
their  enemies.  His  wife's  complex  mental  processes 
did  not  baffle  him.  They  were,  however,  excellent 
practice,  and  they  amused  him. 

"Oh,  I  see  Wayne's  finish  now  if  you're  going 
to  pull  the  girl  off  the  train  here  and  bring  them 
together.  Which  one  of  your  protegees  is  this  Jean 
-  the  pretty  manicurist  with  the  short  upper  lip 
you  wanted  to  make  a  harpist  of,  or  that  interesting 
Swedish  girl  you  launched  in  the  delicatessen  busi 
ness  ?  The  manicurist  was  pleasing  to  the  eye -- I 
won't  deny  that  she  affected  me  strongly;  but  I  hope 
it  isn't  the  Swede.  Her  creditors  still  pursue  me." 

'You're  so  unsympathetic,  John.  You  know 
Jean  Morley  well  enough.  You  told  me  yourself 
you  thought  her  wonderfully  interesting  —  and  Mr. 
Richardson  says  she  will  go  far." 

"I  dare  say  she  will,  Fanny.  And  now  we're  to 
have  her  in  the  family,  I  hope  she'll  be  a  good  sister 
to  me." 

"Please  don't  make  fun,  John.  This  has  all 
been  so  terribly  tragic.  And  the  girl  is  so  proud! 
She  wouldn't  come  to  the  Harbour  this  summer 


496  THE   LORDS   OF 

for  fear  of  meeting  Wayne  there  and  she  positively 
refused  to  see  him  in  New  York." 

"But  trapped  in  Pittsburg,  she's  going  to  see 
him  now  if  you  die  in  the  attempt.  I'm  for  it.  Do 
you  want  me  to  ask  the  Sheriff  to  help  ?  Maybe 
I'd  better  get  a  ne  exeat  to  hold  Wayne --he  may 
have  changed  his  mind." 

He  took  her  to  luncheon  and  received  his  instruc 
tions  humbly.  Wayne  must  be  asked  to  dine  with 
them  at  Rosedale,  and  it  would  be  a  good  plan,  she 
thought,  to  have  him  come  up  to  the  office  to  ride 
out  with  them  in  their  car.  In  no  other  way  could 
she  be  sure  her  plans  would  not  miscarry.  And 
Blair  made  careful  note  of  his  orders,  which  included 
the  menu  of  a  dinner  for  four  which  he  must  per 
force  telephone  to  Rosedale. 

14  Wayne's  probably  lunching  in  the  general  dining 
room  —  why  not  give  him  a  tip  now  that  the 
adorable  one  approacheth  —  he  might  like  a  chance 
to  brush  up  a  bit,"  he  suggested. 

'You  never  understand  anything,  John  Blair! 
You  telephone  Wayne  that  you  want  to  see  him  at 
your  office  at  five  o'clock,  and  tell  him  about  dining 
with  us  at  Rosedale,  and  by  the  time  I  bring  Jean 
to  the  office  he  will  be  there.  .  .  . 

"Fanny,  I  wish  I  had  your  resourceful  mind! 
So  my  office  is  to  be  the  rendezvous.  The  library 
is  at  your  disposal,  but  you  might  wait  till  we  get 
them  to  Rosedale  and  give  them  a  quiet  corner  of 
the  veranda;  the  setting  would  be  more  romantic." 

"Oh,  you  stupid!     If  she  sees  him  first  it's  all 


HIGH   DECISION  497 

over!  She  knows  what  he  wants  to  say  to  her  and 
she  won't  face  it;  she  believes  he's  going  to  offer 
himself  out  of  gratitude  for  what  he  thinks  she's 
done  for  him;  it's  all  very  complicated." 

"It's  too  deep  for  me,  Fanny.  But  you  will 
undoubtedly  land  them.  I  see  Wayne's  finish  — 
I  hear  the  first  strains  of  the  organ  in  dear  old 
Memorial  over  the  way  —  Wingfield  best  man, 
Wayne  scared  to  death  —  and  'Who  giveth  this 
woman  to  be  married  to  this  man  ? ' 

'You  may  do  that  yourself,  dear,  if  you  are 
good!" 

The  western  train  was  late  so  that  Blair's  ingenuity 
was  severely  taxed  by  the  effort  to  hold  Wayne, 
who  was  the  least  bit  surprised  to  find  himself 
summoned  to  his  brother-in-law's  office  to  discuss 
Fanny's  investments,  which  Blair  was  perfectly 
competent  to  manage  without  help  from  him.  It 
was  half-past  five  when  Mrs.  Blair  appeared,  so 
demure  and  indifferent  that  Blair  almost  laughed 
outright. 

"Oh,  Wayne!"  she  cried,  "I  think  I  dropped  my 
handkerchief  as  I  came  through  the  library  --  would 
you  be  so  kind  - 

She  herself,  admirable  woman,  closed  the  door 
upon  them. 


CHAPTER  XLI 

"MY  CITY --OUR  CITY" 

JEAN!" 
Wayne  had  taken  berth  her  hands   and  stood 
smiling  down  upon  her  before  she  grasped  the  fact 
of  his  presence. 

"I  didn't  understand  --it  isn't  fair  --  Mrs.  Blair 

ScilCl 

"I'm  just  as  surprised  as  you  are,  Jean --and 
it  isn't  fair,  of  course;  but  Fanny  likes  to  think 
herself  the  instrument  of  Providence.  I  hope 
she  is!" 

His  high  spirits  evoked  no  response  at  once.  She 
was  on  guard  against  him,  and  not  lightly  to  be 
won  to  the  plane  of  happiness  to  which  her  coming 
had  lifted  him.  He  sat  down  facing  her  by  the 
broad  windows  whence  the  eye  was  led  as  from  a 
hill-top  to  the  horizon.  He  asked  about  her  later 
experiences,  and  they  took  account  of  each  other 
soberly  as  they  talked.  The  changes  in  both  were 
marked.  She  was  now  a  successful  artist,  wThose 
work  was  a  feature  of  the  periodical  that  lay  on  the 
window-ledge  beside  her.  Her  hat  and  gown  bore 
the  metropolitan  accent  —  no  hint  here  of  the  girl 
he  accosted  so  long  ago  before  Sargent's  picture! 

It  was  difficult  to  resist  the  appeal  in  his   eyes, 

498 


THE   LORDS   OF   HIGH   DECISION    499 

that  were  wonderfully  clear  and  straightforward  and 
earnest  behind  the  happiness  that  shone  in  them. 
When  she  had  answered  his  questions  as  to  her 
southwestern  experiences  silence  fell  between  them. 
She  was  afraid  to  ask  about  himself,  for  fear  of  replies 
that  might  lead  to  dangerous  ground.  She  glanced 
over  her  shoulder  toward  the  door  uneasily. 

"Oh,  Fanny  isn't  going  yet!  She  has  a  lot  to 
tell  John,"  he  laughed. 

"  Mrs.  Blair  is  going  to  New  York  with  me  to-night. 
That's  why  I  stopped  here." 

"  Did  she  say  she  was  going  to  New  York  to-night  ? 
Well,  she  isn't!" 

"Her  trunk's  at  the  station;  she  usually  knows 
what  she's  doing,  doesn't  she?" 

"Well,  usually;  but  not  this  time  --  for  the  reason 
that  she  can't  leave  you  here  after  asking  you  to 
stop,  and  you  - 

"I  have  an  engagement  at  the  Hemisphere  office 
at  noon  to-morrow,"  she  replied,  determined  not 
to  be  disarmed  by  his  bantering  tone. 

"Oh,  they  will  wait!  Everybody  waits  for  illus 
trators  —  they're  the  autocrats  of  the  publishing 
business." 

"I  make  a  point  of  keeping  my  word,  Mr. 
Craighill,"  she  remarked  severely. 

He  rose  with  an  abruptness  that  startled  her. 

"Jean,  we  are  wasting  time,  you  and  I.  You 
didn't  answer  my  letters  —  and  I  wrote  you  a 
dozen;  you  wouldn't  see  me  when  I  knocked  at 
your  door  in  New  York;  and  Fanny's  efforts  to 


500  THE   LORDS   OF 

have  us  visit  her  at  York  Harbour  failed  all  summer 
because  you  wouldn't  go." 

"I  was  busy,  and  I  didn't  - 

"You  didn't  want  to  see  me?  Is  that  what 
you  were  going  to  say?" 

"No;  I  didn't  mean  that  —  I  hope  to  have  time 
for  my  friends  when  I  get  better  established  in  my 
work.  My  opportunity  is  unusual  -  -  everyone  is 
so  kind." 

'Your  genius  is  remarkable,  and  everyone  has 
to  be  kind.  But  Jean  - 

"Well,  Mr.  Craighill." 

"It's  getting  dark  and  John  is  waiting  to  take  us 
to  Rosedale  for  dinner,  so  I'm  going  to  say  some 
thing  to  you  that's  very  important  to  me;  please, 
Jean,  won't  you  listen?" 

She  rose  as  though  to  leave  him;  but  his  manner 
had  changed,  and  she  stood  still,  compelled  by  the 
very  seriousness  with  which  he  spoke. 

"I  want  you  to  look  at  me.  A  little  less  than 
two  years  ago  I  saw  you  and  spoke  to  you  for  the 
first  time  at  the  Institute.  I  had  sunk  so  low  that 
decent  women  avoided  me;  I  sought  to  begin  a 
flirtation  with  you  with  no  good  thought  in  my 
heart  —  I  was  as  low  as  that,  Jean.  You  flung  my 
own  name  at  me  —  it  was  a  weapon  in  your  hands, 
and  it  struck  fire  on  my  pride.  But  I  had  gone  too  far 
to  be  stopped  by  a  word.  I  had  resolved  upon  evil 
things;  I  hated  my  father  —  I  meant  to  humiliate 
him  —  to  make  him  suffer.  But  believe  me,  Jean, 
that  is  all  past  now,  a  closed  and  sealed  book.  You 


HIGH   DECISION  501 

told  me  I  must  not  try  to  change  my  ways  for  you; 
and  I  made  the  mistake  of  expressing  gratitude  when 
I  wrote,  for  all  you  have  meant  to  me  and  done  for 
me.  I  am  not  making  that  mistake  now.  You  said 
a  great  thing  to  me  that  morning  at  my  father's 
house  when  you  pointed  out  the  nobility  of  labour; 
and  I  shall  remember  to  my  last  hour  the  way  you 
held  out  your  hands  as  you  opened  to  me  your  own 
life  and  heart.  Then  those  fine  fellows  I  met 
at  Stoddard's  house  in  Virginia  helped  me  —  more 
than  I  realized  at  the  time.  It  wasn't  much  I  did 
there  at  Denbeigh,  and  I  couldn't  have  done  it  at 
all  if  it  had  not  been  for  Joe  —  Joe  who  really  gave 
his  life  for  me  —  I  can't  forget  that.  But  I  came 
to  myself  up  there.  I  have  no  illusions  about 
myself;  I  am  only  a  weak  man,  but  I  am  try 
ing  to  live  a  clean  life.  There  is  no  woman 
anywhere  that  I  can't  look  in  the  face,  and  no  man 
that  can  say  I  haven't  been  square  with  him.  I 
have  some  faith  in  myself  now,  and  that's  the  greatest 
gain.  But  I  know  I  ask  a  great  deal  when  I  ask 
you  to  give  up  your  work  for  me  —  and  yet  I  ask  it. 
Remember,  there  is  no  gratitude  in  this  -  -  you  are 
a  woman  and  I  am  a  man  —  and  I  love  you." 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his  in  a  long,  searching 
look,  but  when  he  had  taken  her  hands  she  still  held 
herself  away  from  him. 

"Oh,  it  isn't  my  work,  it  isn't  that;  I  know  how 
little  that  is!" 

"But  you  love  me,  don't  you,  Jean?" 

"That   isn't   the   question.     What   you  forget   is 


502  THE   LORDS   OF 

my  own  life  —  the  bad  start  I  made,  the  injury  I 
did  Joe.  The  more  I  have  thought  of  that  the  more 
heartless  it  grows.  And  when  I  first  knew  you 
I  was  a  fraud;  you  thought  me  a  girl,  and  I  had 
been  a  married  woman  and  had  left  the  man  I 
married  -  -  poor  Joe !  and  he  cared  so  much !  And 
you  have  been  up  there  in  my  country,  and  you  know 
what  I  came  from.  My  people  were  just  those 
people  —  and  yours  are  the  strong  and  rich.  I  only 
happened  to  stray  into  your  life  --  I  don't  belong 
there.  You  have  all  been  good  to  me;  but  I  can't  let 
you  do  this.  You  have  too  much  to  give,  and  I  - 

He  laughed  into  her  eyes,  heeding  nothing  she 
said.  He  was  drawing  off  her  gloves,  and  he  flung 
them  down  and  kissed  her  hands  and  held  them 
resisting  to  his  face.  Then  he  turned  to  the  window, 
his  arm  clasping  her,  and  looked  out  upon  the  dark 
ling  city  that  lay  below  —  a  vast  amphitheatre, 
with  serried  ridges  of  twinkling  lights  rising  on  the 
distant  hills  to  meet  the  stars.  The  glow  of  the 
streets  and  shops  stole  upward  to  their  window  in 
the  towering  building.  Far  away  along  the  river 
the  huge  organ-pipes  of  the  great  mills  sent  their 
cloud  of  smoke  and  flame  into  the  amber  dusk. 
Trains  moved  like  bright  serpents  along  the  valley. 
The  strength  of  the  iron  hills  thrilled  through  him 
as  he  looked  upon  the  torches  of  the  gods  of  power; 
the  city  of  his  birth  sang  a  great  psalm  to  him  as  he 
stood  there  beside  the  woman  he  loved. 

"Jean,  dear,  I  always  loved  the  way  you  spoke 
of  'my  country'  -  your  hills  away  off  yonder;  and 


HIGH   DECISION  503 

I  want  us  to  learn  to  speak  of  my  city  —  our  city  — 
in  just  that  way.  Harsh  things  have  been  said  of 
the  old  town,  and  I  have  done  my  share,  God  knows, 
to  make  us  despised  and  hated.  I  want  to  do  what 
I  can,  no  matter  how  little  it  may  be,  to  change 
all  that.  You  told  me  I  must  help  myself  before  I 
could  help  others,  and  when  you  are  sure  of  me  we 
must  do  what  we  can  for  the  poor  and  the  luckless, 
for  the  women  who  strive  and  the  men  who  fall, 
here  in  the  City  of  the  Iron  Heart.  We  must  carry 
that  with  us  into  our  lives." 

Her  arms  stole  round  his  neck,  and  her  cheek 
as  it  touched  his  was  wet.  Their  lips  met  in  a 
long  kiss. 

"Not  the  iron  heart,  Wayne  dear,"  she  whispered, 
"but  the  City  of  the  Heart  of  Gold." 

THE  END 


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